It's Never Easy
by Centroides
Summary: It was one of those straightforward missions. Go in, plant the evidence and then get out. Easy. What could go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**It's Never Easy**

Chapter 1

"Look, we haven't got time to argue. You'll have to do it. We've no other choice."

"You're nuts! There's no way I can do it. I can't walk in there into a crowd of Krauts. I Can't." Chief glared at the man who was supposed to be the sane one. He was supposed to be the one who came up with the sensible ideas. This one was just stupid. Casino would throw this one out there as a joke or to piss him off but to have it come out of Garrison's mouth, that was just insane. And he was insane if he thought Chief could walk into a room full of German officers.

"Chief, we've come this far. We can't back out now. The case has to be there."

"But a German general?"

"Field Marshal."

"Why can't we wait for Actor? He could do it," he asked out of desperation.

"You know why. Besides he was part of the rescue. He would be recognized as well. You're the only one he didn't see. Come on." He turned and began the trip back to the deserted cellar where they had hid the uniform.

This nice easy mission, like all the easy ones that were sent their way, was turning into a suicide mission. As Chief followed his leader he contemplated the mess they were in. The plan had called for Garrison, dressed as a Field Marshal, to walk into the hotel lobby, place a case in the cloak room and then leave. Being fluent in German made him the perfect choice. Sounded simple enough but when they cased the room Garrison had recognized one of the Germans. On a previous mission the American officer had been caught. It stood to reason that if Garrison recognized his interrogator then he would recognize his would-have-been victim. Chief knew he would be risking the mission and his life if he went ahead with the plan. They had to change it, but for him to do it? He shook his head.

The good thing about being on a large team was that if one couldn't do it, then someone else could only this time there was just the two of them. Less than twenty four hours ago Actor and Casino had been borrowed by one of the other teams who's resident conman/safecracker had been killed before they could complete a vital mission. Goniff and Casino had both been laid low with food poisoning on their last mission. Casino had been recovering so he and Actor had been flown in to Belgium. Goniff, still on a liquid diet, stayed home.

By the time they reached the cellar Garrison had obviously thought it through. "You're right. " He sounded resigned. "There's no way you can do it. You'd be caught right away. This is what we'll do. Stay here outa sight. I'll go into town and get something to dye my hair. Hopefully he won't recognize me." He turned and left.

Chief watched him leave. When he was on his own he was responsible for himself. What had to be done, he had to do it. There was a sort of freedom to come and go as he had to. There was also a hardship. Everything that had to be done he had to do it no matter how hard or how tired he was, he had to do it. Now he was part of a team, a team who looked out for each other, a team who shared the work, each doing his part, each ensuring the survival of the others.

This time he felt he was letting the team down, he was letting the man who had gone out of his way to help him, save him, he was letting him down. The Warden would go in there knowing he was going to get caught all because he was scared. That was the word that had always goaded him to fight. All his tormentor had to do was accuse him of being scared and he was right there fists flying. He was never scared. Never, until now. Now he knew. He was scared. He heard again the childhood tormentors ' Scardy Cat, Chicken', the sing-song 'Baby Boy's a Chicken.'

He hated that. NO! He Was Not a Chicken. He would do it. He would show them. He wasn't scared.

Chief went into the back of the cellar and grabbed the uniform. Yanking his coat off he pulled his sweater up over his head, unbuttoned his pants and slid them down. He stepped out of his pants and into the dreaded uniform.

His mind zeroed in on an old memory. When he was younger he was taken to a Residential school where all the children were forced to wear uniforms and spend half the day marching out under the afternoon sun. He had hated it. Regimentation, boredom, yelled orders, yelled reprimands, beatings…..

He pulled the overcoat over his shoulders and shrugged. It was not a good fit. The uniform was for Garrison. Though almost the same height, Garrison was wider in the shoulders. Close enough. He peered out to make sure the coast was clear then entered the street. He would walk the four blocks, enter the lion's den, place the case and exit. All he could do was hope not to be questioned.

As he walked he thought of Actor. When he was doing a con he started before they got to the scene. He said he was 'getting into character'. So he tried walking tall, straight and proud as he had seen their con man do. He ran the few stock phrases he knew through his mind but none of them really fit. To calm his nerves he began to repeat the words Goyen had taught him.

I am an Apache warrior, brave, strong and fearless. I fight til I die. I am an Apache Warrior, brave, strong and fearless. I am a German Field Marshal, brave, strong and fearless. I will fight until the case is in place.

It seemed wrong to change the words but he was sure Goyen and the elders would understand. This Apache Warrior needed the strength to fight the enemy, the Nazi's and the fear.

By the time he walked up the steps, he was calm, at least on the outside. He would get the job done.

Chief walked into his worst nightmare. Ever since he had been bullied as a child he had hid. Every move was designed to be unobserved. Most people don't notice the quiet ones so he was quiet. If he had to be where there were people he stayed on the fringe. Even his clothes were selected to make him blend in, dark, never flashy. Now here he was, in a room full of bullies. Even his uniform would attract attention. Why couldn't he have been a bell boy. Then all he would have to do was bow a lot. Mentally he measured the distance he had to go. Relatively it was short but to him it felt like the last mile, the one leading to the gallows. There was one other time when he had tried to avoid a crowd but he had been found out and confronted. He had been terrified, his worst nightmare, front and center to a angry crowd, but this time instead of a beating he would be tortured and killed. The worst of it would be that it would be all for nothing. A scaredy cat and a no good useless loser who couldn't even carry out a simple order. Throw in stupid for getting himself into this position when all he had to do was wait for Garrison to do it and there were the three strikes. Three strikes and you're out.

He walked into the room and stood surveying the crowd of eight or nine German officers. As much as he wanted to race for the cloakroom on the other side of the room he knew he had to act the part. Survey complete he began the longest mile.

Disaster! Someone had approached from his right and was asking him something. He turned and saw one of the hotel staff. German attitude, use it. He glared at the offending man and was pleased to see him wilt and move away. He had succeeded but that was with a civilian, one trained to serve. No German officer would react like that. All he could do was hope no one spoke to him. He put on his coldest angriest face.

It was not enough. Front and centre was a short fat bald officer. Chief was so intent on his role that he did not stop to think whether the man outranked him or not. Didn't really matter, did it. He was being asked something and he had no idea how to respond. The man's face held no clue, it was devoid of expression.

Fighting his way out was not an option either. He was dead.

The question was repeated. He had only one possibility and even that one was weak. He put his free hand to his throat and tried to clear it.

"Ah, laryngitis. Ich habe gerade das ding." He turned away and Chief breathed a sigh of relief. No idea what he said but it was now even more imperative that he get the case to it's designated place fast.

He continued with his mission. The case was placed and he began the return trip. He could still get caught but there was a chance the case would not to be noticed. The plan could still work. All he had to do was walk back out the door alive.

Half way back, so far, so good, then disaster. The same officer was back but this time he handed Chief a glass. Obviously he was to drink it. There was no reason for him to bring him water so he knew it was something stronger. He took the glass, raised it to his nose and inhaled slowly. Peaches, not water. The officer was watching him closely and was starting to look suspicious. He had no choice. He put the glass to his lips and tossed it back. And gagged.

Chief knew beer and whiskey and even moonshine but this was something else. It burned all the way down to his stomach and took his breath away. It took all his skill at hiding his emotions to keep a somewhat straight face. "Danke", he croaked as he nodded in appreciation. That was the correct response, the German was beaming. Then he asked something else but Chief remained looking miserable and gestured towards the door.

"Ja, Ich werde dafür sorgen" he announced and turned away. Chief continued on his way at a slightly quicker pace. The door, he was at the door and freedom, but it was not to be. The officer was waiting for him and proceeded to escort him to a car.

Shit, thought Chief. He's gonna want an address. Shit. Where was Garrison, he wondered as he scanned the street. He was alone. The last thing he wanted to do was get in the car. There, he would be trapped. He had to find a way. He could suggest walking but a sick man wouldn't walk. He looked again in desperation but there was no escape.

He climbed into the car while the driver held the door. It seemed little consolation that the case was in place. Chief sat down and leaned back, resting his head on the back of the seat in spite of the fact it exposed his throat. The officer climbed in on the other side and made himself comfortable. Chief sat up. The officer asked something so he nodded. He was as good as dead as it was.

Chief was scared stiff. All he could do was concentrate on acting as if he belonged and understood. Maybe if he knew where he was being taken then it would be better. Unless that place was to a train going directly to Berlin to see Hitler himself. Understandably he would rather not know that. But where was he being taken? He couldn't even object. Even if he could speak the language he couldn't say 'just let me out here and I'll walk home. They would offer to drive. All he could do was try to memorize the route on the off chance he got away.

The driver put the car in gear and they pulled away from the curb. Chief hoped the ride was long so he could figure out what to do. If they stopped at a hotel, he would get out, thank the annoying little bastard and hoped he would leave him alone. If not …. What if he took him to a hospital? Hopefully there would be a window he could get out. If he didn't leave him alone and insisted on accompanying him then he would have to kill him. He had no alternative.

Another question was asked that Chief didn't understand but before he could respond there was a furious honking immediately behind them. The officer turned to look then spoke to the driver. The car pulled to a stop. Chief was about to get out when a familiar voice spoke at the drivers window.

It was Garrison. He was dressed in a German uniform and he was speaking in German but looking at him so he sat and listened. Then he stopped speaking and gestured to the other car. Chief recognized a rescue when he saw one and silent breathed a sigh of relief. He had no idea what was being said but knew it didn't matter. The gesture was the obvious clue. He nodded. Desperate to get out he was about to open the door then remembered. Instead he motioned and Garrison, ever the dutiful aide opened it for him. He got out, offered his thanks then executed a perfect salute for the German, turned and walked back to the other car.

Keeping up appearances he walked to the rear door and waited for it to be opened. Being so grateful for his rescue but too afraid to blow it he maintained his silence and superior attitude all the way back to the far side of town. Finally Garrison ditched the car near the cellar they had stayed in and they stripped off their jackets. Making sure the way was clear the two men returned to their refuge.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"What you did was stupid! You could've got yourself killed," Garrison growled. "Not only that but if they'd caught you, then the contents of the case would be useless. You could've blown the whole mission."

Chief hated it when Garrison yelled at him. The man treated him like he mattered, like he was worthy. Garrison trusted him and he liked that. He knew if he screwed up then that would be lost. He didn't want to go back to being a nothing and alone.

His preference to being on his own was a lie. He hated it but it was better than the alternative. What he really wanted in the darkest part of his soul was to belong, to be included, to be part of something. After years of rejection and being ostracized he had decided that it was better to reject them and learn to live apart and learn to like it. So that was what he had done. When he first joined the group he had maintained his distance, an automatic response. Over time he had not seen the expected rejection and he had lowered his guard. Their leader, once hated because of the power he welded over him, had proven himself to be fair. Chief had changed his opinion when the man had gone out of his way to save his miserable hide and then not yelled at him for getting caught. It had shocked him so much he had even thanked him. Now he was yelling at him calling him stupid.

"I told you and the others that I'm the boss," continued Garrison. "You do as I tell you. If you've got a suggestion then say it, we'll discuss it and then I make the decision. You got that? You can't just take it into your head and go off on your own. You waltzed in there, no back up. You could have been caught and dead before I even got there. You can't do that. We've got to work together."

Over time Chief had learned to disregard people. He barely listened when they talked. As a child it usually involved teasing or outright meanness. With his acceptance of the Lieutenant as a fair man he tuned into what he said. He put his trust and faith in his words. Now they were cutting him to shreds just as the other peoples' words did. He wanted to shut them out. He wanted to put his hands over his ears and block the sounds that were knives carving into his soul. He wanted to turn his back as if he could turn his back on the words but he was afraid. The room they were in was too small for him to put any distance between them and Garrison was not a man to be slighted. If he turned Garrison might hit him, not that he didn't deserve it but he was afraid. In the past he had learned that fear could be read so the best thing to do was cover it, cover it with anger. Anger he knew how to deal with, anger gave his body something to do - fight. He fought back with attitude.

"Well you couldn't do it! You say I could'a got caught? What about you? They know you. You'd a never made it across that room. So don't you talk to me about stupid. I did you a favour." Chief had no idea where that came from. It had just come out.

"A favour?" Still angry but now he was a little confused.

"Yeah."

"What favour?" he asked quietly

Yes, what favour. Chief had not thought that through, he had just blurted it out. Now he had to explain but had no idea how. He cast around for some explanation. What did everybody want. What would Garrison want. Usually what someone else wanted was what he didn't want so the thing he didn't want was to go back to prison. Without thinking that through he blurted it out.

"Now you can do what you always wanted, get rid a me, send me back."

"Send you b … " That brought him up short. "Where did that come from? Why would I send you back?" he asked clearly puzzled.

"What makes you think you're any different?" he was grabbing at straws and he knew it but was helpless to stop it. "You're the same as anybody else."

Garrison stood and stared at him. "You didn't mean to say that did you?" Chief was caught. "Chief, I'm not sending you back. You're part of this outfit but if you screw up then I'm going to tell you and you screwed up."

Chief tried to conceal his emotions but they were ripping him apart. He just wanted to get away, to run to somewhere private and hide for a time like a wounded animal. He was wounded.

In a more conciliatory tone his leader said, "Get changed and lets go." He turned and made ready to leave.

Once Chief had changed back to his civilian clothes the two men dressed as farm labourers began their trek through the woods. Half an hour later they flagged down a passing farmer and hitched a ride to their exit point. Because they could have been overheard the two men could not converse so only Garrison sat up by the farmer while Chief hopped up on the back of the wagon where he could quietly consider what had happened. He knew Garrison had been mad at him but knew he never carried a grudge. Everything he had said in anger would be forgiven and forgotten. What he couldn't forget was how he had felt having to be in charge. He was glad he had done it, glad he didn't have to sit and watch Garrison get caught, get taken away to be interrogated and shot but he was glad that was over. He never wanted to be in charge again.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Their mission complete, all they had to do was meet the fishing boat that was to take them out to the sub and go home. Garrison and Chief had finally made it to the coast They were tired but they didn't want to miss their ride. Once on the boat they could rest and maybe sleep. At least that was their plan.

The sun had set shortly before they arrived at the pick up point. Garrison checked his watch. Normally they would stake it out and watch from a distance to make sure it was safe but there was no time now. The next scheduled pass was not for three days. They waited for the signal hoping the boat had not come early.

Almost immediately Chief spotted the flash and Garrison replied. Within minutes they were picked up by a small boat and then transferred on board the fishing vessel and safely below deck. Both men collapsed on the hard benches and closed their eyes. The motion of the boat and the chug of the engine soothed them into restfulness in spite of the hard bench and overpowering smells of fish and fuel oil. It was not to last.

An explosion caused the boat to lurch throwing both men off their bench and tossing them into a heap on the floor. Water began to pour in as they pulled themselves up. They raced to the ladder and up on to the deck. The Captain yelled "All hands on deck!" as the boat, listing to starboard, tossed and pitched in the rough waters. It was the moment of indecision. To wait too long might mean going down with the boat but leaving too soon meant possible drowning due to the cold. They all moved to the railing, waiting. The ship continued to list, the port side rising higher as the waves slopped over the starboard rail.

"Abandon Ship!"

Men dove and jumped into the ice cold darkness their fate uncertain either way. Chief paused to look to his leader, saw the signal and dove. He had aimed for a long shallow dive to take him away from the floundering vessel, afraid he would be crushed as it rose and fell, but the shock of the sudden immersion in the frigid water stunned him almost causing him to inhale sea water. He broke form and splashed frantically to the surface, sucking in air and sea spray, coughing and sputtering as he bobbed up and down on the three foot swells. The split second pause to make sure his team member had gone plus the lurch of the dying boat took Garrison deeper than he had aimed for. The second explosion sealed the fate of the floundering fishing boat, sending debris flying in all directions.

Chief turned as he crested and slid down the other side into the trough. Moments later the water took him up the other side of the wave and he looked back at what was left of the fishing boat. The skeleton was on fire, the bow rising like a fiery breaching whale. Bits of burning wreckage bobbed on the waves lighting the scene from hell. The scene disappeared as he slid down the other side of the wave. He continued to stare into the darkness as he tried to take in what had happened. Again the scene reappeared, same distance but fading as the carcass slid back down, the breach completed.

With the cold and shock, his brain seemed incapable of putting it all together. Too much too fast, too catastrophic. Ice cold salt water slapping in his face and up his nose brought the first order of business to the fore, survival. He had been treading water for too long and he was tiring. The cold sapped his strength, the heavy coat and boots pulled him down, hindering his movements. He couldn't ditch them, he would freeze without them. His brain hiccupped and he laughed a harsh gasp. Keep them and drown or ditch them and freeze. What a choice. He laughed again. He had heard both were a painless way to die but he had always hated the cold. Drowning was faster. Decision made the coat and boots stayed.

His next view from the wave crest showed bits of flotsam, some still on fire, marking the scene of the disaster. He swam as best he could towards it in hopes there were other survivors or even just something to cling to, to keep him afloat. He was not prepared to die yet.

The next crest brought fear. Something was rising out of the water about fifty yards away, something big and dark. The fishing boat?

No. Boats sank, they did not come back up again no matter how much it would solve his problem. He waited the agonizing minutes until he crested again. Yes there was a boat there, then a clang of metal on metal and a search light. Saved. He was going to be rescued.

He.

He?

Garrison!

Where was Garrison? Chief turned as fast as he could and pushed himself as high in the water as he could, looking, searching. He couldn't leave without him. Look! Find him! He watched as the search light swept the water around the wreckage. A change in the wind brought the sound of voices and Chief's fear was eased. Maybe one of them was his leader. He started to swim towards the boat with renewed fear. It was so hard going, what if they left without him. He pushed harder but as he crested the tableau laid out before him burned into his brain. The rescue ship was a sub. He had seen them before, he had climbed the conning tower before, ridden in the whales belly, that was not the problem. What was wrong was the muzzle flashes from the deck mounted gun. Why were they shooting? Why shoot the survivors of a sinking ….

The sub was German. The realization was a slap of icy sea water in his face and a stab of fear in his gut. The fishing boat had been torpedoed and they were now picking off the survivors. He had never felt so helpless as he heard a cry of pain after one particular shot. The victim continued to cry out for mercy until the third shot silenced him. Chief knew that was not Garrison but where was he? Had he survived? In his minds eye he saw the man bobbing in the water, alive then cut to shreds, his body convulsing as the bullets ripped threw his body then sinking down into the water, blood leaching out.

No! He had to do something, anything. He continued to push himself towards the wreckage. If he could find him before the sub did then he could save him the way Garrison had saved him..

The light swung in his direction and instinctively he ducked under the water but as he waited he could feel himself sinking down, down as if pulled by dead hands around his ankles and coat tails. No, his death would not help Garrison. He kicked but nothing happened. He kicked again and again. He had waited too long, sank too far, he was going to drown. Arms flailing, legs kicking, muscles burning, lungs straining, he struggled, pushing past the pain. Pain was like a brother to him, something to hold on to when nothing else mattered, an anchor to hold on to when you were in danger of floating away into insanity or death, a brother to fight against, to beat, to push past. He pushed and pushed until his face cleared the water and he gasped, panting, pulling air and sea spray into tortured lungs. He coughed and choked but he was alive.

Exhausted from his fight to escape the depths he concentrated on just staying

afloat. Suddenly he was conflicted when he felt something bump into his chest. Was it something from the depths come to claim him or something for him to hold on to. Optimism won and he reached out and grabbed. It was a chunk of debris. He threw both arms over the board and tried to haul himself up but it would not support his weight and it started to sink. He fell back glad that at least he had something to hold on to.

Now Garrison. Could he find him in the dark. All he could do was try. By now the fires had burned out and the sub had left, he was in total darkness but he had a purpose. He yelled but held little hope. The wind was blowing in the wrong direction but he called anyway. He pushed forward keeping a mental picture of the area in his mind. As long as the wind and waves did not scatter the wreckage too much he would search. He pushed into the darkness against the cold that was sapping his strength.

Darkness had never bothered him. The desert was dark at night and cold. The only difference was the water here. He pushed on. The first three objects he encountered were bits of wreckage. He was tiring but that was also something to be bested. Push on. The next bump was soft, but dead. He located the head and after checking the hair, it was too long, not Garrison, he continued. Or at least he thought he did.

The desert was beautiful at dusk. The setting sun painted the landscape with beautiful colours and shadows. Animals that had hidden from the deadly suns rays came out to hunt and be hunted, eat and be eaten. It was a land of wonder and beauty and best of all freedom. He had never been hunted in the desert. It was a land of peace, harsh, yes, but a land of wide open spaces, the view extending for miles. There were mountains and canyons to explore, to hide and hunt in. He was home. At peace. Free.

Goyen touched his elbow as she often did. When he had met her neither spoke the other's language but by now they had learned enough they could converse. She had resisted learning English at first insisting he learn Apache but he had worn her down. They now spoke a mixture. Like now, she would come and sit with him after the cooking fire had burned down. Together they would sit side by side watching the desert fade into darkness and she would tell him the stories of their origin and their legends. She had taught him what animals made the sounds he heard until now he could identify them on his own. It was a special time, a time of happiness, contentment.

But not this time. The hand that touched him suddenly grabbed hold, clutching his arm, his shoulder, pulling him down into the water. Damn fool, gonna drown them both. He released his grip with his right hand and hauled off and punched the fool. They had made a break for it when a fight had broken out and the guards had been distracted on the chain gang he was sentenced to. He and three others had seen the opportunity and run. He and Frankie had managed to reach the river and with the dogs closing in had jumped from the bridge. They were now floating downstream on the current. The punch had worked because the shock had weakened Frankie's grip to the point he could pull his hands off him and put then on the tree trunk he had snagged. He had no feelings one way or the other about his fellow escapee. Frankie was just a lousy con like him. They drifted on the current, rising and falling, two men lost in their nightmares.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

Captain Havers was a seafaring man from a long line of sea folk. By the age of fourteen he was piloting his fathers fishing trawler and by the time he was twenty five, with the death of his father, he was the Captain. When the war broke out he knew what he had to do. He was older than the rest of the sailors at the start but with his experience he was soon promoted to Captain and given the command of the 110 foot Motor Launch 053. She was a sub chaser and mine sweeper. Right now the Captain was harried. Their sailing had been delayed by engine trouble so they were two hours behind schedule. Captain Havers didn't like to be behind. He ran a tight ship.

Two hours out the lookout had spotted something off the port bow and despite not hearing any distress calls their course had been changed. As they neared the area where the flash had been spotted the boat slowed. All available hands were on deck scanning the area. Two searchlight beams reached out into the darkness eventually picking out bits of debris. With the appearance of first one body and then another, they came to the realization that they were cruising the death scene of a fishing vessel, origin unknown. The search went on but no more bodies were found, all hands lost at sea. There was no more they could do.

There was at least one pair of eyes that watched the moon and wondered. First it was a crescent then it went full then back to a crescent. It was like a lunar eclipse he saw once only it kept happening over and over. He thought back to the stories Goyen had told him about how …something , he couldn't remember, crept up and devoured the moon only to find it was bitter and spit it back out again. Was it the snake? Maybe that was why Goyen had told him to never eat snake. No, that couldn't be. There, the moon was back again, no, disappearing. Maybe he was supposed to do something to stop it. What was it that Goyen had done? Maybe if he distracted what ever it was then it would leave the moon alone and then he could see where he had to go. He reached down to get the big knife from his boot but was surprised when he got a face full of water. He would have to use the smaller switchblade secreted on his wrist. He finally got it out but had a hard time triggering the blade. For some reason his hands didn't want to work. Finally he got it into position and began to threaten the moon eating monster.

"Hey, Over here, you bastard." He continued to yell and wave his blade.

Able Seaman Taylor had been at the port bow rail for the duration. He was tired and cold and the constant staring out to sea had made his eyes tired. Each time he thought he saw something it turned out to be just the light reflecting off the water or a bit of flotsam, or even just the shadow of the wave, so he was glad when he heard the order to douse the lights and go below. He wanted not only to get warm but he didn't want to find any dead bodies. Just the thought of looking into those dead eyes looking back into your soul was enough to give him the willies. He shivered at the thought. The light winked out but not before he thought he saw something moving at the edge of the light beam. A body maybe? If he said nothing and pretended he didn't see it then he wouldn't have to look at it. The guy was dead anyway what did it matter? Then he pictured a woman sitting at home waiting for her husband or maybe her son.

"Hey, switch it back on. I thought I saw something about, … No, farther aft. There! Over there!" Yes, there was an arm waving up in the air. He had to be alive. The cry went up, "Man Overboard!"

The rescue was not easy. The Motor Launch pulled in as close as she could and a life ring was tossed. This was standard procedure. Sometimes the downed flyers could grab on and be pulled to the rail. Not this time, there was no attempt to reach for the ring. A small boat with two sailors was used to complete the rescue.

Captain Havers had watched the rescue, his crew had rescued downed fliers before. They knew what to do. He went back to scanning the area. Once he had deeming it clear he left orders and headed below. Hearing the racket he charged into the mess where two of his men were tying to subdue the rescued man.

Chief was fighting. There was no way he was going down. He would rather die fighting. As tired as he was no man would ever do that to him and live. Blindly, he fought.

"All right lads, let him be," ordered the Captain.

The crew had brought him to the mess area thinking to sit him on a bench but he had exploded when he had realized there were people hovering over him, holding his arms. In his fight the three men had landed on the floor. The two crewmen backed off and stood waiting. Chief tried to stand but his legs wouldn't co-operate. He managed to get into a sitting position and backed up against the wall. He knew he was vulnerable but it was the best he could do. He watched his attackers.

"It's all right, son." Captain Havers , at the age of thirty eight, was like a father to the much younger men under his command. At six foot four, two hundred pounds and dark eyes that seemed to look right through you, he was an imposing figure but his easy smile and gentle manner had made him well liked by the crew.

"You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you. All we want to do is get you warm and to do that you have to get your wet things off. The boys, here, just want to help you." Havers knew from experience that being in the ocean too long could make a man confused. They had pulled one pilot out of the water who had taken his jacket off. He had died before they got him to the hospital. He didn't want that to happen again so he considered his options. They had to get him warm.

"Smith, coffee, two cups. Blackmore, return to your station."

"Aye, aye Sir."

Now it was just the two of them. The Captain picked up the blanket and began to approach the man. He noted the lack of uniform. Not a flier. The peasant clothes as opposed to fisherman's gear told him the man was more than likely, an agent for Special Forces. He wondered whether he was Army and what rank. He considered the man's features. He was young, younger than the men they had inserted or removed in the past. He was dark, maybe Italian. Maybe he didn't speak English. He didn't think there was anyone on board that spoke Italian. As he got closer the man began to tense and tried to pull away. There was no place for him to go. He had backed himself into a corner.

"Sir, I'll stay with him if you'd like." The slight Scottish burr told the Captain it was their torpedo man, Able Seaman Neil Thompson, who had spoken. He was a young slight man with an easy going attitude. Maybe he could put their guest at ease. Smith, the radio operator, had returned as well with the coffee.

"All right, Thompson. Take the coffee. See if you can get him to drink it. Smith, return to your post."

A pair of 'Aye Aye, Captain' and they dispersed.

Thompson was alone with the sodden man. A quick look told him he was being watched. Keeping his eyes on the deck he moved over to sit beside the other man, an arm's length away. Keeping one coffee cup he put the other down between them and turned the handle and nudged it closer. Then he concentrated on his own cup and sipped the hot liquid.

Thompson had been brought up on a farm and had worked with animals including injured ones. As he was growing up he had wanted to be a vet but knew there was no money for an education. He had had to be content with watching the vet when he came and just observing the animals. He had learned to read their bodies and actions. This man was not an animal but he showed all the same signs as the wild dog he had found, oddly enough, half drowned in their frozen pond one late winter day. He had managed to get it out and dragged it into the barn. His father had not been too pleased but had not stopped him. First he had to, like with the dog, reassure the man he meant no harm. He had sat with the dog off and on all day and into the night. By the second day the dog had started to eat from his hand. He eventually recovered and became his shadow, following him everywhere. The though of this dark man following him everywhere made him smile.

As he sipped his coffee he surreptitiously watched his floor mate. He knew he was also being watched so he remained as relaxed as he could. He told him his name and explained where they were. There as no response but he knew the sound was all that was required. Talking calmly to an animal had a soothing effect.

He couldn't help but smile when the stranger reached down and picked up the cup. He was shaking so badly the coffee spilled but Thompson remained motionless until a sip had been taken . Putting his own cup down, he reached over and took hold of the blanket. Keeping his eyes on the blanket he tossed it over the man's legs then immediately returned to his coffee. They sat in silence.

It was all quiet as the Captain approached so he just poked his head in. He watched as Thompson finished his coffee. When he put his cup down he inched closer then reached over and pulled the blanket up higher from the man's thighs to his waist. He was now shivering violently though he had drank enough coffee that it was no longer in danger of spilling. The Captain returned to the bridge. His men knew what to do. They were a good crew.

Thompson knew he had to get the man's clothes off but knew that act would make him colder so he pulled off his own shirt and offered it to the man. The stranger shook his head once so the seaman motioned for an exchange. The dark man looked him in the eye then put his cup down. He attempted to pull off his coat but his hands wouldn't work. Thomson gently reached over and helped him. It took a bit of doing because the sodden state of the coat. Once off, Thomson continued with the shirt. He saw the initial resistance but exhaustion put an end to that. Once he was undressed the seaman put his shirt on the stranger who then sank back with eyes closed. He let him rest for a few minutes then pulled the blanket up further.

Chief was so tired and miserable. As feeling began to return to his body memories of being on the chain gang returned. There were days he had been this tired and cold. He was shivering uncontrollably. He would have liked to have pulled the blanket closer but he couldn't get his hands to work. Some one had brought him hot soup which he had held for the warmth and then drank. It was helping. Someone must have escaped. When that happened they sometimes kept the detail out all night in the yard. He remembered the captain of the guard tell them if they had enough energy left to run then they had enough energy to work another twelve hours. By the time they got back they were out on their feet. That's what must have happened. Some guy traded shirts with him. Must have been a new guy or maybe a stoolie. Why pick him though. He didn't know anything. Too tired to care.

What? What did he want? Just leave me here. I'm too tired. The words were thought but not spoken. Finally he gave in and allowed himself to be dragged to his feet; feet that didn't seem to work quite right. He kept tripping over them. Finally they got to his cell and he fell onto the cot. Fortunately he lost consciousness before Thomson started to undo his pants.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Chief woke slowly from his dreamless sleep, a sleep of exhaustion, both mental and physical. He woke to the gentle rocking motion, then the sounds filtered through the haze, sounds of voices, an engine, the smells of fuel and oil and unwashed bodies. Cautiously he opened his eyes and saw the ceiling, a ceiling so close he could reach up and touch it, so he did. When he turned his head he saw he was in a small room, a prison cell? His confusion was compounded when a face came into view and spoke.

"Bonjour, allo."

He was in a prison cell with a Frenchman? Or was it a French Prison which meant German? He frowned as he tried to remember how he got there.

Assuming, because they were closer to the that coast, the face continued in French. Not understanding the words, Chief looked past the face, down to the end of the cell but there was no door and no bars. Still confused Chief dragged his gaze back to the face. "Where..?" His voice normally warm and smooth came out a croak.

"Hey, you speak English. How ya feelin'?"

Still not completely understanding Chief looked back towards the doorway.

"It's OK," said his new cell mate. "You're on the 053, best Motor Launch in the Fleet," he said with pride. " We rescued you. Your boat sank, but you're alive." He waited but there seemed to be no comprehension. "D'ya want some hot coffee? I saved some for ya. Here, let me help you an' I 'll go get it."

As the arms that belonged to the face appeared reaching up to him, Chief shook his head. He knew he had to eat but he was too confused, too tired to figure it out, too tired to even drink. Something was nagging at his mind but he couldn't concentrate. He closed his eyes and drifted. This time it was not dreamless.

"Remember! Think!" The School Master's stick smashed down across the desk. The little boy jumped, terrified as the huge angry man towered over him. "Don't tell me you are so stupid that you can't remember!" CRACK, the switch landed inches from his chest. "Who brought you here?" the booming voice demanded. "Who do you owe your sorry hide to?" The little boy was too terrified to open his mouth, even if he knew the answer, as tears rolled down his cheeks. The scene shifted as the young man ran through the crowded streets yelling, "Where are you?" He had to find him but he didn't know who he was just that he had to find him, fast. He knew he was there, just around the corner up ahead if he could only get to him then it would be all right. He tried to pushed through the crowd but they pushed back, forcing him back. No. He had to get through. Finally he was clear but there was no one there. "Where Are You? Why can't I find You?" He turned staring up at the tall buildings so like the canyons back … He turned his eyes back to the empty street and saw a man standing on the sidewalk a block down. The figure turned away and began walking. Chief ran but no matter how he tried he couldn't get any closer. It was like he was running in slow motion … like running in deep water … water, water all around and he was swimming but still he couldn't find the man who had the answer, the man who brought him here. He felt something grab his collar and drag him back. The water was gone and he stood in a long hallway with bars along the sides, a corridor in a prison. Colonel Prior stood before him, hands cradling a truncheon, his favourite attention getter. "He's not here to protect you this time. You couldn't find him, remember?" and with that he punched the end of the club into Chief's midsection. As Chief doubled over in pain, trying to catch his breath he heard Prior's words. "This time you do the full stretch, twelve years Hard Labour. Thought you had it rough last time, well that's nothing compared to what we do to those who forget." Then he laughed a terrible cruel laugh while staring at his helpless victim. "Take him away and make sure he never forgets again." Two guards appeared beside him and grabbing his arms began dragging him down the corridor. One turned to him and said with total disgust in his voice and on his face, "You, of all people," it was Casino, "I can't believe you would forget him. All the shit he let you get away with and this is the thanks he gets? You're a lousy piece of shit!"

"NO! I tried! I couldn't find him. I tried…" He lunged to escape and banged his head on the ceiling. He paused, breathing hard and looked about. He was back in the cell with the Frenchman? No it wasn't a cell but for a moment he couldn't remember what it was.

As if summoned the French… the man who had talked to him appeared. "Hey, it's OK you were dreamin'. You're OK. "

"Where ..?" he paused to clear his throat.

"That's OK. You were a bit out of it. You're on a Motor Launch. We fished you outta the sea. Your boat sank but you're safe now."

"Torpedoed." He wasn't sure why he said it but somehow it seemed important that he did.

"What? You were torpedoed?"

Chief nodded. "Any other survivors?" he asked anxiously bracing for the worst.

"Yeah," he answered sadly. "Just you and one other. We pulled three others out but they were dead."

Chief had to find out. He tried to get out from under the blankets but he was tangled and his co ordination was off but he finally managed. "Where is he? I gotta see'm."

"What's the rush? He's not going anywhere." He reached out to steady the man but before he could grab his arm a fist was cocked and aimed at his face. He froze.

"Hey, I ain't gonna hurt you. I was just try'n te help you. I'll take you to 'm."

Chief dropped his fist but continued to stare at the man.

"M'name's Gavin. I'm what passes for chief cook, bottle washer and medic on this boat. Just let me check you over an' I'll take you to him. OK?"

"I see'm first."

"Cap'm'll have my hide. I'm supposed to notify him and then check you over before you get up but if you insist then come on. By the way, what's your name?"

"Chief."

Gavin took a step towards the door then spoke over his shoulder. "Chief what?"

"Just, Chief," he grouched as he followed the sailor down the narrow galley way silently pleading over and over, 'let it be him, please, let it be him'. He didn't want to imagine what was going to happen if it wasn't. Gavin stopped before a doorway and motioned to Chief to go ahead. He entered the dim room and thought his heart would stop when he saw the blonde hair. He moved closer, holding his breath.

It was! It was Garrison. He knelt beside the bed just looking, trying to steady himself before he spoke. He took one more deep breath and whispered, "Warden? I'm sorry." then he called again, louder but there was no response. He turned to Gavin, "What wrong with him? Why doesn't he wake up?" The tone had gone from demanding to pleading.

Gavin came closer. Obviously Chief knew the man but from the concern in his voice the blonde was very important to him. "I'm not sure. I'm just a medic, not a real doctor. His pulse is a little slow but his blood pressure is good. I don't think there's any internal damage. Was he hit with any debris when your boat blew up? He might have a concussion?"

"No. We got off after the first one hit. We were in the water when it blew up and sank."

"Chief turned back to the man who brought him here. "Warden, ya gotta wake up. I gotta know you're OK." His fists clenched in fear. What if he didn't … ever. What was he going to do. It was his fault. If he had found him in the water, maybe he could have saved him from this. Instead he had left him there. A horrible thought came to him and he spun around to face the seaman. "He's not shot is he? You checked?" He turned back to the bed and not waiting for an answer he began pulling the blankets back. "Cause they were shooting 'em." . Gavin rushed in and grabbed Chief's wrists.

"No. He's not shot. I checked. He's not," he repeated when Chief persisted. The two men froze, Gavin holding Chief's wrists both staring into each other's eyes, Chief searching for and Gavin projecting, the truth. Chief sagged and turned back to Garrison's still form when the sailor released his wrists.

What if he had been underwater too long? He had heard about a kid who had been swept away in a flash flood. They had found him some time later about a mile down stream, alive but unconscious. He never woke up. Doc said he had been underwater too long. Is that what had happened to Garrison? If he had found him and kept his head above water then he would be all right now. How could he have failed him, the man who had done so much for him, the man who had accepted him, and look what he had done in return? He was a failure. The familiar ache in his heart flared.

This time he would make it up to him, he would look after him now like he should have before. He could do nothing about the past but he could change the future. He would stay by Garrison's side. He would look after him. The ache remained but this vow to the future took some of the sting out.

Seeing Captain Havers appear at the door, Gavin stood and said, "Sir." Havers was a stickler for proper military form on deck or ashore but below the rules were more relaxed.

Chief heard the two men talking, heard his name but he remained beside his leader, waiting, hoping for a sign of his return.

"Chief? I would like a word with you. Chief?" The man in question turned to the Captain but didn't rise so he added, "How be we go somewhere more comfortable."

"I gotta stay here."

"Your friend needs quiet right now. You can return after we speak. Come." The Captain couldn't help noticing the apparent devotion. He would make this as quick as he could so the vigil could continue hopefully with a happy ending. He watched as the man rose and he led the way to the Mess. Once there, he poured two coffees and the two men sat down.

"I'm Captain Havers of the Motor Launch 053. What's you name?" He watched the odd emotion flash across the man's face and wondered.

"They call me Chief." His answer was guarded.

The Captain smiled. He knew. "It's all right. You're with OSS aren't you? We've worked with your branch many times." Havers expected comprehension or at least a acknowledgement but there was nothing. "You work behind Enemy lines. We've dropped off and picked up several agents. It's all right to talk to me." Comprehension at last.

"Yeah. Special Forces."

"Good. What's your name, rank and serial number?"

Chief looked down at his coffee. He had instinctively wrapped his hands around the mug as if he couldn't get his hands warm enough. "I, uh, I'm not," he looked up, "technically in the Army." He paused to see what effect that would have. There was none so he continued. "I'm a civilian technician working for the Army." Still no reaction.

"And your friend? Is he as well?"

"No, he's Army."

"Name, Rank and Number?" Fear began to rise in Chief's stomach. Should he tell? What if this was a ruse? He was pretty sure it was OK to give that information. "He's Lieutenant Garrison. I don't know his number."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"How many were on the boat when it sank?" The Captain's manner was relaxed, calm. There was nothing threatening about him.

"I don't know for sure." How much was he supposed to say? Preferably he would say nothing but if this was on the level then the dead men's families would be notified. Small comfort. "I saw at least three."

"There was just you and the Lieutenant from OSS, the rest were fisherman?"

Chief nodded and looked to the door. He wanted out. It would be too easy to accidentally say something he wasn't supposed to say. Damn, wake up Garrison, he thought, You're better at handling this.

"All right. We're on patrol right now under radio silence so we can't notify anyone of your whereabouts. We will let them know as soon as we can unless there is some urgent reason…." He left it hanging.

Chief shook his head. The mission was complete, the case delivered, evidence planted. The rest was up to whoever found the case and what they did with it. Back home the guys would be going out of their minds with worry not knowing what had happened to them … or they would be enjoying the time off at the Doves.

Chief finished his coffee, stood and moved to the door. "I gotta get back. He might wake up."

"Wait just a moment. Let Gavin check you over first then you can go."

"I'm okay," he said as he left.

Returning to the alcove where his leader was sleeping he saw someone bending over the sleeping man. Without thought he lunged, grabbed his upper arm and swung him away. His adversary crashed into the wall as Chief slipped into position, back to the bunk, half crouched, ready to defend his leader.

"Hey, wadda you doing?" demanded Gavin as he picked himself off the deck. "I was just checking on him. You got no reason to be pushing me around like that."

Never say you're sorry. "I didn't know what you were doin'." Chief relaxed fractionally, but remained on guard.

"Well all you had to do was ask." It was obvious from Gavin's tone that he thought Chief was nuts.

Chief did not care. He returned to his vigil as Gavin left. There was no chair so he sat on the cold hard floor. It wasn't so bad at first but the cold began to seep up into his legs and back. He wrapped his arms around himself trying to preserve some warmth but it was no use. The motion of the ship was also making him queasy. The fact he had eaten nothing in far too long didn't help but he was too scared to eat. He stood and tried to move about but there was no room. Remembering the blanket on the bed he had awoken in he went down the hall only to find that someone else was using it, Gavin. All the beds were in use but there was coat beside Gavin. Hopefully he wouldn't mind so he put it on and returned to Garrison's bunk. No change.

"Hey, there. How are you? Good to see you looking better." Chief had no idea who the man was though he seemed to know who he was. He waited. His lack of comprehension must have showed because the man stepped into the alcove and stuck out his hand. "Thompson, Able Seaman. I helped you when we brought the two of you aboard." Chief grunted as he shook his hand. "Here I brought you some sandwiches. "He handed Chief a plate. "The two of you must be real close. Fraser had a heck of a time getting you to let go." Chief turned frowning, making real eye contact this time. "Yeah. Said you had a hold of his wrists and wouldn't let go." He took a step closer and lowered his voice, "maybe I shouldn't tell you but he had to hit you to make you let go so he could get you into the boat."

Chief turned back to the man in the cot. They **had** been together. When had they …? Some of the guilt that had constricted his chest loosened. He must have found him in the water, though he didn't remember doing it. There was a lot he didn't remember. But the fact was, he hadn't left him. It wasn't his fault unless ….. From now on he would look after him.

Minutes later Thompson returned. "Ya didn't eat any of the sandwiches. I'm afraid our selection is limited but I could see if there's anything else."

"No, that's okay. He might be hungry when he wakes up."

"Eat up, there's more."

"Thanks," he said as he reached for a sandwich.

The motion of the boat was getting worse and his stomach was paying the price. Maybe if he got some fresh air it might help. He did not want to leave his leader but throwing up was not going to help either. He looked about for the way topside eventually finding it and climbed the ladder. Out on deck the wind was strong and cold. He pulled up the collar, shoving his hand into the pockets as he shivered and turned his back to the wind. He moved aft hunkering down behind the aft gun. It offered only slight protection from the wind but he had to brace himself against the pitching and rolling of the deck. Being up here helped against the nausea, at least a bit. The dark clouds hung so low and thick he couldn't tell what time of day it was. They had boarded the fishing boat after dark but he had no idea how long they were in the water or even how long he had slept. The water was getting rougher, the wind howling. He didn't like this, he feared another sinking in which case he wanted to be on deck but he knew he had to go below. Garrison might wake anytime. He hoped he would, and soon.

Several crewmen appeared out of the dim, dragging a large bundle. They dragged it aft and tossed it overboard. Chief was stunned. What the Hell were they doing? The bundle was the size of a body … NOT GARRISON? His heart pounded as the sailors turned and started to make their way back forward. He couldn't be dead! They must have seen him but made no move towards him. Was this normal? He didn't know and there was no one to ask. One of the men shouted at him and gestured angrily. Panic. He couldn't run, there was no where to run to. He would have to fight. He stood braced ready to fight but the men continued crawling hand over hand along the rail. One gestured with his arm for him to follow. Maybe this was normal, taking out the garbage?

He turned to go around the gun and was slapped back by a blast of water that caught him full in the face. He turned back, shook his head to get the water out of his eyes then taking a deep breath, he pushed out and into the wet. It was not rain but sea water flying up over the bow as it nosed into waves. Moving forward hand over hand to any grip he could find he finally made it to the entrance. He was greeted by a pair of hands that helped him before they closed the door shutting out the screaming wind and driving water. His moved as fast as he could down the narrow companionway heading for the bed his leader was in but it was empty. His fear turned into panic and he turned scanning the narrow hallway, racing to the next cubby hole, pulling the curtain aside. There was Garrison. He almost cried in relief as he squatted beside the bed.

The motion of the boat was worsening as the height of the bow's rise and fall increased. He heard someone retch but managed to hold his own. He placed a arm across his friend's chest just in case. That was how he felt the motion as the other man regained consciousness.

"Warden? You okay?" He moved in closer so he could see the man's face. He was pale, though it was hard to see in the dim. All power had been diverted to the engine, trying to keep them ahead of the waves. There was no answer as the eyes swept the room barely glancing at the man holding him from sliding on the bunk.

Suddenly Garrison lurched up. "We gotta get out. We'll be trapped below."

"It's all right, Warden, it's just a storm," said Chief as he tried to calm his leader. He kept his arm over his chest so he would not slide out of the bed.

"We're sinking! Move!" Garrison grabbed his team mates arm with surprising strength and heaved, knocking Chief off balance. He sat up, barely missing hitting his head on the upper bunk and stood. Throwing out his arms to prevent falling he pushed his way out into the galley way. By this time Chief had gotten his feet under him and struggled to stand. He ran uphill and after Garrison. When the bow dropped, both men went with it, landing in a heap, sliding to a stop. When they had recovered their breath both struggled to stand on the ever tilting floor.

"We gotta get topside," said Garrison, still out of breath and struggling to figure out where he was.

"It's okay, Warden, it's too rough to go out there. You'll get swept overboard."

Garrison began moving again so Chief grabbed his arm to stop him. Thinking Chief meant he should go the other way he turned and began herding Chief who threw himself against the officer. The deck dropped again and they fell. "Warden, NO."

"We're going down."

"Warden!"

By this time two sailors appeared and misunderstanding the situation, separated the two men. "Break it up," yelled one. The First Mate appeared and demanded to know what was going on. One of the sailors said the two were fighting.

Before he could say anything more Garrison demanded to know where the lifeboats were.

"There's no need. We'll ride it out. Just find a bunk and let us do our jobs."

Garrison nodded so Chief relaxed and looked to see where his leader's bunk was. He stepped inside, Garrison followed. Bracing himself against the walls then sinking to the cot he waited for Chief to join him. "I want you to look around, find a way topside. Go that way and I'll go down this way. Meet back in ten."

"He said to wait here," but he was talking to the officer's back as he disappeared down the galley way. He rose and moved to the corner. "Warden, they know what they're doin'." Then under his breath because Garrison was out of earshot, "Sides I already know." There was no response. "Damn," he swore under his breath. If nothing else he would go have a look topside. The ship was still rising and falling on the stormy sea.

There was nothing else to do, he followed, catching up to him as he reached the top of the companionway. "Warden." The officer continued so Chief hurried up behind him and grabbed his arm when he again failed to respond to his call.

"What? Oh, good. Let's go, lead the way." He turned to go but Chief held his arm.

"Warden, they're not abandoning ship. He said they'd ride it out. Look, no one's leaving."

"It's all right. We'll get on one of the life boats. We'll be okay."

Again Garrison tried to pull away so Chief, fed up by now, yelled, "Didn't you hear them? He said no, we don't need …." That was when it struck him. More calmly he said, "You can't hear me, can you?"

"Just because they're not …." Chief watched his face as it went from confident, determined to, uncertain? "What? What's wrong?" asked Garrison.

"You're deaf, aren't you?" Now the look was concern. "You can't hear me. Damn." He gestured with his head as he tugged his arm motioning for him to follow. Together the two men moved back down below. Once they reached the bunk where Garrison had lain he began looking for a pen and paper, not that that was going to do him any good. Finding nothing he turned to face his leader. "You," and he pointed to his friend, "are," and he placed his hands over his own ears, "deaf."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The floor continued to pitch with the occasional roll as they rode out the storm. Chief watched, trying to keep his face neutral. He knew if he looked scared that it would trigger Garrison's 'take charge' attitude which would be great if he could take charge, but under the circumstances, not going to happen. Just watch and see how the officer would handle it. He seemed a lot calmer than when he had woken up. Maybe he could get Gavin to have a look at him although after throwing him around he might just refuse.

"It's the alarm. I thought it was to abandon ship," said Garrison. Chief caught a glimpse of some emotion he could not decipher before the officer turned away and tried to stretch out on the bunk. "Look, maybe I'm just tired. I'll lay down for a bit, maybe get rid of this headache."

Garrison was covering. Did he truly believe that he could sleep it away? He had to know it wouldn't. Maybe he was stalling for time, hoping to bluff Chief. All these thoughts ran charging through his mind. What was he to do? He sat back and waited.

It only took a few minutes until the officer turned back to his team member. "It's not is it?" He put his hands over his ears, then removed them, then recovered them pressing harder, this time looking Chief in the eye. Chief shook his head slowly keeping his face neutral. It saddened him to see the face fall and the shoulders slump. The look the Indian saw was resignation and that hurt. Garrison would never just give up. He must be hurt worse than he thought. Maybe the Captain would consider this an emergency and take them back to England. He didn't honestly think so but maybe mention it to him anyway.

"You can't hear that alarm, can you?" Chief shook his head. "It's in my head isn't it?" There was no panic just concern. "You know don't you?" He sighed as Chief nodded. "I can't hear. You're going to have to figure out how to tell me what's going on."

This was going to be hard, thought Chief, there was no way he was going to try writing it out. He indicated the boat around them then holding his hand out fingers together, palm down he mimicked a boat sailing in rough water. Garrison nodded so then he held a fist to his mouth and the other hand covered his ear then dropped his one hand and put a finger to his lips.

"Radio silence. How long?"

He held up his left wrist and pointing to his watch he made a circle.

"Twelve hours." Twelve hours to get his hearing back, they both hoped.

Twelve hours turned out to be less than four hours. Garrison had stretched out on the bunk, asleep and Chief was propped in the corner, dozing as best he could, when a sailor poked his head in. "Captain wants to see you, sir." Garrison had not stirred and the sailor was looking at him so he stood stiffly and followed.

He was ushered onto the dimly lit bridge. "How're you feeling, warmed up?" asked the captain. Chief nodded as he scanned the horizon then back to the captain. "We received an alert to change course. I informed them of your presence. I am afraid I have to put you ashore." Chief nodded, there was no help for it.

The two men stood on the shore watching as the dingy disappeared into the dark as it was paddled back out to sea. The worst of the storm that had tossed them about earlier had blown itself out, leaving heavy swells and an overcast sky. The boat with it's shallow draft would normally allow close access to the shore but the swells had presented a problem. As the crew had paddled shoreward, they had used the sound of the breakers to pinpoint their landing. Shouldering the pack of supplies the captain had given them they began their short trek inland. In the dark they could not go far but they had to get off the exposed beach.

It was hard to tell what time it was when Chief awoke. The sky was still overcast, the gusty winds occasionally brought showers. They were both cold and tired but the sooner they got moving the better. As the light improved Chief began to look for landmarks. He had studied the Captains maps and committed as much as possible to memory so he had an idea of the lay of the land, he just did not know where he was on it. Rousing his sleeping partner, the two men, damp from resting in the wet ground, began their careful reconnaissance. An hour later Chief spotted the house which meant a road and eventually a town. The Captain had shown them a map approximating where they would land but because of the dark they could not be sure until they found a signpost or a town. This was an area he had not been in so Garrison did not know of any Resistance contacts. They were on their own.

The house turned out to be derelict, the roof had fallen in long ago, no windows remained intact and even the floor had rotted out. They could smell the decay. As they walked Chief remained alert to his surroundings which was why he moved them off the road when he heard the approaching vehicle. From their vantage point behind the low stony outcropping they watched an ancient car rattle past driven by an equally ancient driver. Chief admired the sound of the engine, the huge grill, the back swept fenders and even the bustle back. It was a fine machine, and as much as he needed wheels, he would not hurt an old man to get it. Maybe if he saw it parked somewhere …

It was a long lonely trudge along the deserted road, their only company was the gulls lazily circling and occasionally calling overhead. The sky was still overcast and sea rough from the strong winds that continued to blow. Chief inhaled the salty air and it reminded him of when he had first come to New York and stood by the harbour only here there was no smells of dead fish or fuel or smoke and no boat horns. This was peace and quiet, solitude. Maybe if he lived long enough he would come back here for a while, rest his soul and ease his heart. This was a sad business they were in. Yes, some evil was destroyed and he had a hand in that but too many good people died as well.

Chief looked out to the sea. It was hard to tell where the sea stopped and the sky began, they were the same rolling grey. There might have even been fog out there. Seemed to be a lot of fog in this part of the world.

Funny how a guy could change, he mused. There was a time when this was all he wanted, solitude but now… It had to have been living with guys and working with them, guys with a common goal, guys who worked hard, and relaxed just as hard. Here, there was no back biting, no distrust. This wasn't like pulling a job where everyone was out for themselves. He didn't have to worry about someone ratting him out. He and Casino might fight once in a while but it was mostly blowing off steam. There was no revenge or keeping score. This was different. A guy could get quite comfortable with this setup.

And Garrison, he thought as he turned to check on the man in question who was plodding along a pace behind him. He was a good man, tough, firm, infuriating at times but a good man. He sure hoped he would survive the war. That led him to wondering what would he do after it was all over. Maybe he would marry and have a couple of kids. He almost smiled at the vision of a little blonde girl and boy running out to greet their daddy as he came home from work.

The scene faded. Unless he could get Garrison back to England and the doctors could fix what ever was wrong then there would be no happy scenes with children and a wife for the man who had set him straight. He pictured a broken down man, living on the street begging. No. No matter what, he would look after him.

They had been walking for an hour and had seen no one. This was obviously not a well travelled area. Chief hoped it was as thin in Germans as it was in people but then realized that if there were no Germans then there was little chance of a Resistance cell with a radio. They would have to keep walking.

Chief had known hunger, had lived with it, and knew Garrison had as well. Under other circumstances he would ignore the need but Garrison was looking pale and that determined look he usually wore during a mission had changed to one of confusion with a tinge of fear. He could have deluded himself that that was caused by the deafness but this was Garrison he was looking at. He would never let a simple thing as being deaf stop him. There had to be more to it than that. Maybe he was hurt in other ways. The only thing Chief could do was get him food and rest. That meant a place to stay for a few hours. The food the Captain had provided consisted of a thermos, now considerably cooled, and some sandwiches. What Garrison needed was something hot. He continued to scan the area. This coastal road that they were on would eventually lead to a town but because it followed the coast there was no cover from the cold damp wind that continued to blow. They would have to make do. Seeing a low stone wall eight feet off the road, he headed for it.

"What 're you doing? We have to keep going," demanded the officer who had remained standing on the side of the road.

Chief pointed at his leader then put his palms together and placed them beside his face signalling rest.

"No, no time. We have to keep moving." Against his better judgement Chief conceded.

Sometime later Chief saw the faint plume of smoke. Maybe it was a farmhouse where they might get food. The road they travelled followed the irregular coast but if they cut across the meadow they could save themselves time and steps.

Again when Chief angled off the road the officer objected. "We've only got a few hours of daylight left. Let's keep going." This time he did not stop but continued down the road. Chief had to walk back to his side and touch his arm. "I know you're tired Chief," he said without even looking at his team member, "but we can go a little farther."

This time Chief grabbed his arm, pointed to the smoke and tipped his head to indicate they should go that way.

Garrison squinted off in the direction indicated before he shook his head. "That's not a good place to stop. Just a little farther, okay?"

"Warden." Chief knew he couldn't be heard, it just slipped out. He looked back to the horizon to make sure the smoke was still there. It was. Couldn't he see it? He pointed again and again Garrison squinted and shook his head. Chief squatted down, pretended to fix a fire and held out his hands as if warming them. Looking up to see if he was being watched he indicated the smoke from the fire then pointed to the horizon.

The deaf man watched then looked in the direction Chief was pointing. Again he squinted. "Okay. Good thing you have good eyes, I would have missed that."

The good news was that Garrison was going to follow him, the bad news was that not only was the man deaf but his vision was also affected. Had it been this bad on the boat or was it getting worse? Was either condition permanent? If it was, it spelled the end of Garrison's career and the end of the team. Damn, he had to get him back to England and to a hospital, fast.

The field they were crossing had not been ploughed for some time. There might have been cattle or sheep grazed here at one time but there did not appear to be any now. Some of the clumps of weeds had grown up six inches tall, other areas were very short. It was on one of these clumps that Garrison tripped and fell to his knees. Chief heard the sound and came back to see if he was hurt. Stunned, he sat still while Chief checked him over before climbing shakily to his feet.

As they moved inland scrubby bushes appeared in some of the shallow depressions. Up ahead small trees stood guard around the source of the smoke. Counting on the foliage to mask their approach the two men moved in closer. The house, when they could see it, was old. The paint, once white, had faded and peeled to the point the house was more grey than white. One of the small windows had been boarded up, the other was covered in dust and grime, looking as grey as the walls. Behind the house was a small shed and past that an old rusted truck. Chief motioned for Garrison to stay then moved silently toward the back. Looking to make sure there was no one watching he moved to the door. A quick look confirmed it was a chicken coop but there was only one chicken and no eggs. He eased back out and tried to open the truck hood. The few inches he was able to lift it before the rust squeaked told him not to bother, there was no battery.

As he approached Garrison's position he experienced a moment of fear when he could not see him. The officer had laid down to watch the house and had fallen asleep. There was nothing else he could do so he approached the house. Fearing a shotgun blast he walked slowly keeping his hands in sight. Nothing happened so he knocked on the door. After a long wait the door creaked open a few inches revealing a small figure silhouetted by the fire. He folded his hands in prayer and then mimed putting food in his mouth. He waited.

The door open slowly to reveal an ancient woman bundled up in rags and an old coat from the Great War. This was going to be the hardest part but he had to do it. He mimed eating, shook his head and pointed to the bushes where his friend was laying. She looked confused. He indicated one, placed his palm on his chest, then pointed to the bushes and then held his head in pain. Please make her understand, he thought to himself as he waited. He had to do something so he pointed to himself then to the shed then indicated he would carry wood to the fire. She looked at him then out into the yard. He wanted to open his mouth and beg but she opened the door a little farther and handed him a coal scuttle. He had to smile in relief and at the wily nature of the woman. Work first then food. He took the pail and looked about. She pointed with a gnarled finger toward the back of the house.

By the time he came back she was standing at the door with a bowl. He made to enter to put the scuttle by the fire but she blocked the way so he put it just inside the door. Wiping his hands on his pants he took the bowl, bowing in thanks. He turned and hurried to where his friend lay.

"What're you doing?" demanded Garrison when Chief woke him up. "How 'd you know they're not going to turn you in? You should've woken me. We've gotta get out of here."

Chief grabbed his arm forcing him to stop. "There's no phone," he said as he held an imaginary phone to his ear then held it out while shaking his head, "and no neighbours," he indicated the area around them, "to tell."

That seemed to placate his anger. "Maybe so, but next time you let me do the talking." Mollified he took the bowl of thin soup. "Where's yours?" Chief's indication of his stomach satisfied Garrison and he ate. Once the bowl was empty he wiped it as best he could then placed a few francs in it. Chief took it and returned it to the woman. When he returned Garrison was ready to go.

Chief indicated the shed and made the sign for sleep, saw his companion nod and together they moved into the coop. Their rest would be short, they wanted to be away before anyone might come calling on the old woman.

After about an hour they set off again. The sky was still overcast but the wind had dropped somewhat. They headed south east until there came to a road. "There," said Garrison as he pointed to a crossroad up ahead. "Barfleur, maybe we can get a ride on a fishing boat there. We'll be home before you know it. Let's go." He folded the map and put it in his jacket.

A sense of relief crept into Chief's soul. The old 'take charge' Garrison was back. Everything was going to be all right. He felt hope for the first time since, well, a long time. He did not smile, they weren't home yet and they had a long way to go. A lot could go wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The landscape continued changing to meadows with corps of trees and woodlots as they walked single file with Chief in the lead. Ever watchful he noted the low walls of stones, the fallen tree, heard the bird squawk in indignation, felt the unevenness of the ground. This meadow had been a field left fallow. The furrows from the plough were still there but nature had taken back the land. Goyen, the woman who had looked after him when he was younger, had told him that people were part of the plan, not the whole plan. She said, "We need Mother Earth, she does not need us. That is why we should never anger her, we must be kind and respectful." He remembered the first time he had killed a rabbit. She had smiled at him and then shown him how to thank the spirit of the rabbit for his sacrifice and Mother Earth for providing.

Chief was glad when they reached the outskirts of Barfleur. Garrison's confident, ground eating stride had slowed, he was getting tired. It was a good sized town, city really, but there were enough people coming and going that two more rough dressed men did not stand out. Chief preferred being in the country but a visit to the city to see the other side was interesting. This time he did not want to be here, there were too many eyes that could pick him out. If he was alone it would be easier but this time he had to watch for Garrison as well. If someone started talking to either of them, they were dead. The sooner they were on their way the better. For all the worry in his mind, none of it showed on the outside. He was good at hiding. When they reached the harbour they were disappointed by the lack any suitable sized boats Not wanting to linger Chief led them out of town to a shed where they could sleep. It was not the most comfortable but it was dry and out of the wind.

In the morning the two men started out. Needing food Chief located a hen house but the officer did not seem too keen on the idea of eating raw eggs so after making sure no one was watching he raided the garden. The fields were barren but the garden was large and well tended. They filled their pockets and headed back to town.

Spotting a parked car Chief hot wired it and they headed south. It wasn't until they were miles away that it dawned on the man who had never lived near the sea that there were no boats because they were all out at sea. He wondered if Garrison had realized that. Bet he wouldn't have been that stupid. No point in going back so he drove on.

The land was reasonably flat, broken by the occasional wood lot. With the window down he breathed in the scent of wet soil and growing things. It was a good smell bringing back good memories. Occasionally he saw a few cattle and a few sheep but mostly it was fallow fields. It was now June and if the fields were not planted by now, it was too late. Chief wondered if the owners were off fighting instead of planting. It would be a hard winter for all.

By the time they approached the outskirts of Quettehou Garrison was looking around, taking an interest in his surroundings. The roadblock was not unexpected but without papers it was impassable. They abandoned the car and walked around. Once in town they bought food at the local market then began looking for another vehicle.

"We're near Saint-Vaast-la-Haugue," said Garrison as he finished his sandwich. "I remember something about …. I think there may be a Resistance cell there or at least someone who can contact England." Chief looked at him questioningly as he held out his hands moving them closer then farther apart. Garrison smiled and said, "Not far, let's go."

They set off again. Houses were few and far between, but the traffic was steady, although at this hour most of the farm vehicles were heading inland. They finally caught a ride in an empty truck that, obvious to anyone's nose, was used to haul fish. Seeing the checkpoint up ahead Garrison said he was to meet friends here and the two men disembarked. As the vehicle pulled away they moved off to the side of the road and eventually made their way into town.

This late in the day the fleet was in and the fish market was crowded as the two men made their way to the harbour. They had planned to check out the harbour and maybe ask around about the possible contact. Garrison had a description and possibly a name but he was not sure. As they got closer they decided, because of the presence of so many enemy soldiers, to wait. They returned to the town and Chief began looking for a place to rest. The fire escape ladder was just what he wanted. After making sure no one was watching they made their way up to the flat roof. Garrison lay down and closed his eyes as Chief kept watch.

Chiefs stomach rumbled as he watched the traffic begin to thin. Garrison appeared asleep so he left the potatoes and carrot that he had lifted while they walked the street, thanks to Goniff's teachings, in his pocket. It was meager fare but better than nothing. From his vantage point on the roof, the young man had a good view of the area. He wondered about the tower built on the island in harbour. Too big to be a lighthouse, he figured it had to have been a fortress to defend the town. To the north lay England. Somewhere out there beyond the dark clouds lay their destination. Would they be able to find help here? He hoped so but he had a bad feeling about this place. If this didn't work they would have to keep going, as long as they didn't get caught.

"We," Chief said as he indicated the two of them, "go look," he placed his hand shading his eyes as he looked out over the town, "for your radio man?" He put his fist to his mouth and a hand over his ear. Garrison looked puzzled as he finished off the carrot then nodded. "Let's go. I'm pretty sure about the name. We'll try the docks first." The two men rose and once Chief was sure it was clear, they descended to the street.

The two men wandered the docks, feigning interest in the boats and their catch, until Garrison decided to try asking. Chief hung back and watched as the officer approached a fisherman. He spoke quietly for a bit, obviously giving him a story to explain the deafness then there was a pause. The fisherman pointed towards the town indicating a few turns and a number. Garrison thanked him and headed in the direction indicated. Chief shadowed him until they were out of sight of the fisherman then joined him.

The house, a modest story and a half stone building, was on a side street, a short distance from the shops on the main street. Together they waited and watched. Nothing happened.

"It's time", said Garrison as he stepped out of the darkness." Chief watched him approach the door. Words were exchanged and he stepped inside. A few tense minutes later he re-emerged and made his way back. "We're to come back in the morning. He had to move his radio so it'll take him time to get to it. Let's get some rest." Good, thought Chief, they were on their way, but he still had a bad feeling.

They decided on a car in a nearby garage. It was cold and damp but at least it didn't smell of chicken dung. Chief took the front seat of the car leaving the larger back seat for his leader. Garrison needed the rest more than he did. Once he heard the relaxed breathing from the back he quietly opened the door and stepped out. Sticking to the shadows he made his way back to the contact's house. Something didn't sit well with him. He would watch.

Sure enough, minutes after he arrived a man slipped out of the house and down the back alley. If Chief had not been used to watching for any movement he would have missed the shadow that slipped through the back gate. Moving down the street Chief caught up with him at the end of the alley. He then tailed him down a second alley where he got into a parked car. It was too dark to see but his wait was rewarded when the contact left the car. As it pulled away Chief saw the glint of light reflected off the iron cross at the drivers neck. The car moved off too fast for him to tail but he knew what he had seen. They had just been sold out. He could wait and let Garrison get more sleep, they were not expected until the morning, but he wanted to put as much distance between them and the traitor.

Back at the garage, he pushed the car out of the building and then hot wired it. By going slowly he made his way out of town and down the road. As they neared Quettehou he pulled off the road and parked under some trees. He needed sleep if he was going to keep them safe.

Another uncomfortable night but at least they were off the ground. Knowing about the check point at the entrance to the town he waited for Garrison to awake. He had had a hard time telling Garrison why they were no longer in the coastal town waiting for their pick up. Chief was real glad no one saw him trying to play charades on this one. Goniff would have had a field day and so would Casino but then if they were, then they would have had to do it. When the Warden had finally understood he had looked shocked and horrified that he had led them to a traitor.

"Head along the coast. We've got to find another way." The old, 'take charge' Warden was back but there was a sadness in there too.

Chief insisted they get some food so they headed into town to the market where they purchased a few items before heading off again. They would have to be careful, they did not have much money left.

Once out of town there were no vehicles to steal but a kindly farmer gave them a lift for a few miles then they were on foot again. The weather seemed to be still against them, cloudy, windy and cold. They trudged on. The officer seemed to tire easily so under the guise of getting a stone out of his boot, they stopped. Reluctant to stop at first, the injured man lay down and put his arm across his eyes. Chief watched him at first. Maybe it was just a headache from worry, at least that was his hope. He did not want to consider what else it might be.

If the circumstances were different Chief might have enjoyed the walk. The countryside was flat with cultivated fields on both sides of the narrow road. He could hear the birds clustered in the bushes that grew along the sides of the road. As they neared the flock would take to the air and move several yards ahead and then back to their original place. Maybe they had nests in there thought Chief. There looked to be town ahead, a small one. There was a sign but he couldn't read it. That was odd. The letters were all wrong. As he got closer he looked again and they were all right this time. It said Ravenoville. He must be more tired than he thought. Not eating might have had something to do with it. There was no help for that. Garrison was injured, he needed food more than he did. He could tough it out. Just have to be more careful.

The town was small and though he spotted a few faces in the windows there was no one on the street. Was that normal? There couldn't be a curfew could there? Then he smelled food and his mouth watered. It was okay, dinner time, everyone was inside eating. Making sure his companion was still following he pressed on passed the solid grey stone buildings. Most were single story with steep roofs and inset windows showing how thick the walls were. He spotted the church. It was a big grey building like the houses but bigger. The square steeple rose above the town topped with a small cross. The whole town looked forbidding in the cold grey light.

Garrison seemed to be lagging so Chief pointed to a small stable. Proof of his right to be concerned was revealed when the deaf man headed in the indicated direction without resisting but he was not the only one who needed rest. The long walk in relentless cold wind, lack of food and sleep was taking its toll on both men.

Once inside Chief checked to make sure it was empty before motioning the other man to come in. They sat down on a bench near the back and Chief put his hand in his pocket anticipating a few vegetables he had kept. There was nothing. He checked his other pockets and found the same nothing.

"Damn", he swore softly, his exhaustion allowing the whole impossibility of what he was trying to do get the better of him. He needed sleep and food, at least for Garrison who was now looking at him, waiting. He had obviously seen him search his pockets.

"How the hell am I supposed to get you back?" he growled. "Damn!" he swore again, louder. He picked up a hammer and threw it at the floor a few feet away.

"You made your decision," started the officer. He had obviously seen Chief's anger and thought it was directed at him. "You were never promised it would be easy. An' it's not like I did this on purpose. How do you think I feel. You think I like relying on you?"

That last remark stung but he had more pressing matters to deal with. "Keep it down," he growled. Unable to hear himself, Garrison's voice was getting louder.

"Look, you're not stupid. Get us a vehicle. If we can get to …"

A sound near the back wall caught Chief's attention. He lunged at his companion in an attempt to silence him but unfortunately he must have seen it as an attack by his angry team member. He fought back and the two men ended up on the ground. All Chief wanted to do was get him to stop talking, which he did, so he stopped fighting.

The Lieutenant did not. Chief had not counted on the officer's training and discipline so failed to block the fist that was headed his way. He fell back, stunned by the impact.

"Had enough?" asked Garrison as he sat back.

In an attempt to silence the man Chief made a slashing motion by his own throat, what he thought was a universal signal for stop. It apparently was not.

"You want more?" demanded his leader.

Desperate to escape, he shook his head and put his finger to his lips. A combination of the hand signal and the fear in the eyes of the man beneath him dropped the officer. He looked around fearfully as Chief got up, checked outside then motioned for him to follow. They ran.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Finally back on the road they made it to Foucarville where they rested up until the general store was closed. Together they broke in and found something to eat. At the edge of town Chief found a shed for them to sleep in.

Their rest was short, at least it was for Chief. A distant sound woke him. As he lay there it began to grow. Bombers. All he could do was hope they were not anywhere near the target. Flak and anti-aircraft guns responded and then the bombs began to fall. They were not that far away. He moved closer to his companion. He worried about the pilots. How many of them would not be going home?

Finally it stopped and being unable to sleep Chief got up and went outside to look. There were distant fires but all else appeared calm. Then something passed in front of the glow then collapsed. Then there was another only this time it fell right in between him and the fire. A parachute. The first thing he saw had to be the chute from another jumper. What was going on? He should go see that they landed safely but he didn't want to leave Garrison. He watched for a bit then moved back inside. Must be another team, as long as they were not there looking for them. No, the Captain radioed where he had left them. They would be expected to make their way to safety. No, this was something else.

He jerked to a stop. Maybe they were German. Could be a German offensive or reinforcements? At night? Best stay hidden until he knew for sure. He moved to the spot he had previously left but as he got comfortable he heard his travelling companion move.

"Chief? Everything all right?" Again, unable to hear the sound of his voice he had spoken louder than usual. Not knowing if there were others out in the night and fearing discovery by the unidentified jumpers Chief put his hand over Garrison's mouth. He must have remembered the last time this happened because he held still. They waited but nothing happened. It was too dangerous to stay, they had to get out of here. With a hand on his companion's arm he led them out the door and into the night.

As they moved across the field Chief began to regret his decision. There seemed to be a lot of movement out here. In the distance he heard voices but they were too indistinct to understand. Something was definitely going on.

Maybe if he could get close enough to see the uniform….

"Halt!" a voice demanded in the dim, accompanied with the sound of a rifle being readied. Chief froze, Garrison, who was ahead of him, did not. The glow from an nearby explosion silhouetted a man with a rifle pointed not at him but ahead. Garrison was the target.

"Halt" The voice was more insistent this time and the rifle raised.

Chief had no choice. He stepped closer, hands raised and said, "Nicht schießen." He was relieved as the rifle swung towards him and lowered. He was motioned forward so he complied. At least Garrison was not about to be shot but where was he? Scenarios raced through his head. If he just let himself be taken and Garrison didn't look back then he would never know what happened to him. If he grabbed a clod of earth and threw it at the officer then he might turn and accidentally shoot him in the dark. And what if he missed Garrison and the enemy thought he was trying to escape and shot him. There was no other way to keep Garrison safe so he said, "Mein freund," and pointed. Their captor raised his weapon a few inches paused then flicked the rifle barrel to indicate he should get moving. Damn, thought Chief, none of the German stock phrases he knew was any good in this situation. There was only one thing to do.

He waited his chance, manoeuvred himself closer and attacked. His fist lashed out catching the other man on the side of his head and he went down. Another flash lit the sky as he reached down and grabbed the rifle. He took off back to where he had left his friend, caught up with him as he was approaching their recently departed resting place.

"Where were you?" he demanded. "Don't take off like that without telling me." Chief could tell he was scared. Understandable, under the circumstances, the coast was being pounded from the air and sea. Even without hearing, the light show and occasional vibration was unmistakable. They were close enough to be caught by an overshoot.

Chief held up the purloined weapon as another explosion lit the sky. What both men saw froze them in their tracks. It was an American M1 Carbine. What was that German soldier doing with an American rifle? Unless ….

"Where'd you get that?" he demanded as another salvo struck.

Chief pointed overhead, indicated chutes, then pointed west. About four miles away there were flames. As they watched a dark shape soared past and crash landed between them and the flames. The two men set off to see what they could find out.

By the time they got closer they saw a glider had crash landed. They rushed in to help but were stopped by two paratroopers, rifles pointed dead centre.

"We're Americans," said Chief and Garrison in unison.

"Drop your weapons and hands up."

"We're with Special Forces." The officer must have guessed what was said though the cocked rifle and firing stance was probably enough. "We got trapped here when our boat was torpedoed. We're trying to get back to England."

"Likely story this far inland. Get your hands up." The flick of the barrel tip emphasized the words. A hand reached out and took the rifle.

The men in the glider managed to crawl to safety along with their arms and equipment. The group started to make their way towards the line of tree at the edge of the field. As they approached Chief heard a noise, a click-clack. There was an answering click-clack and the group entered the trees and were met by four other men. There were hushed conversations involving "prisoners" and "carbine" and "where the hell are we?" and a few "where the hell are the rest of the men."

"Fourcarville is right over there," said Chief as he indicated the direction with a nod of his head. At least one pair of eyes looked over to stare at him. "Chutes came down due west of there, three maybe four." He wondered if the guy he took the rifle from was still there. He didn't think he had hit him hard enough to kill him. Hopefully he would not recognize him if they met again.

Another click-clack off to the right and an answer from their group and two other men arrived. "They've set up a command post. Next field over, look for the tallest tree. Aim just to the right of it, two more fields over. Go."

"Where you going?"

"Tryin' to find anyone else," he said as he started to move off. "With that wild ride we'll be lucky to find half our guys."

"Good luck." Not waiting for a reply the small group set off.

The command post was makeshift. Someone's parachute had caught in a young tree. The lines had been staked out to form a tent. As they came closer they were met by another paratrooper. After exchanging names and unit numbers they proceeded to the tent. Their inquisitor took their information to the man in charge.

Suddenly Garrison perked up. "Cole? Lieutenant Colonel Cole." He had meant to say it quietly but he was loud enough for the group to hear.

The soldier who had been guarding their captives was about to shut the prisoner up until he heard the tone of his voice. "You know'm?"

Unfortunately Garrison was still looking at the Commanding Officer so did not see the questioning look on the soldier's face but Chief did. He leaned over and said, "He's deaf. Happened when the boat we were on was torpedoed."

"How do you talk to him?" he asked as he indicated the deaf man. "Ask'm how he knows the Colonel?" The soldier was suspicious and a little curious.

By this time Garrison had noticed the conversations going on and had looked to Chief for an explanation. Not knowing what else to do he pointed to Garrison and then the man in charge then gave him a questioning look.

"Robert Cole was at the Point when I was there. He was ahead of me but we were rivals on the sports field. Glad to see he got promoted." Was that a hint of envy?

Their guard called to a Captain who was standing near by, told him Garrison's story and they watched as he went to check for confirmation. After a moment the two ranking officers who had been conferring turned and look their way. The Major, who had been talking to the Lieutenant Colonel, approach.

"The Colonel remembers a Garrison, but he was an officer and would not be out of uniform unless he had disgraced it." He stood waiting to let that sink in then continued the attack. "And if it was the same Garrison he would be at least a Captain by now."

Chief didn't like him. He was just like any of the other bullies he had met, loud and obnoxious. Instinctively he stepped closer to Garrison, ready to defend him. He had not been searched, so still had his knife, but knew this was a bad place to pull it out. Garrison had saluted then explained he was deaf. A normal person would have reacted with some sort of compassion or understanding but Chief knew there would be none here and there wasn't.

"He's with Special Forces," said Chief in a tone that showed he was not about to be bullied and that he didn't care what rank he was addressing.

"And who are you?" The Major demanded with a frown.

"I work for **him,**" he replied with the same cold tone as he tipped his head indicating his leader.

"Name?" the ranking officer asked with distain. "Obviously you're not Army."

Chief gave him a nasty grin and said, "You can call me Chief."

"Well, Chief, with our men so scattered," he said as he wrote on a scrap of paper. "Your new orders." He handed the paper to Garrison and waited for the salute. Chief waited to see his leaders reaction. Craig read, saluted and turned away.

Seeing a soldier standing near by Chief asked, "you wouldn't happen to have any food? He hasn't had a lot to eat in the past few days." He was handed two food packs. "Thanks." He caught up to his friend and handed over the packet. Standing so he could not be observed, Chief put his finger to his lips then mimed looking at a piece of paper. He had to know what was going on. What did that ass think he was doing ordering the Warden to join his little party. The Warden was injured and should be on his way to a hospital, not traipsing all over the bloody countryside. They should just slip to the edge and vanish. They both knew how to do it.

Garrison apparently did not trust his voice, he handed over the paper. It stated that Lieutenant Garrison was ordered to accompany the Lt Colonel. They both ate quickly, Chief hardly tasted what it was that he put into his mouth. His mind was occupied watching the other soldiers, watching Garrison and trying to figure out what to do. If they took off then the officer would get into trouble for disobeying orders, but he was injured. Would that count for anything? Garrison appeared okay with going so he would watch and wait. Any hint of trouble or if the man was getting tired, which he seemed to do lately, then they were gone. Decision made, the two joined the others as they began their trek across the country.

As they walked he saw how Garrison seemed to move with the others. He fit here, here with others of his kind. He was a soldier after all. Was this where he belonged? Not tired to a bunch of losers like the cons? He looked at the ranks and their ages. A Second Lieutenant he saw, was much younger than the Warden. Were the cons holding him back? Every soldier wanted to advance, didn't they? Even the Colonel said he should be a Captain by now and he had heard envy in Garrison's voice when he saw Cole's rank. If they promoted the Warden would he still be leading them? If not, what would the army do, send in another to lead them. He didn't want to think about that. Sure could do worse than the Warden. He treated them good and he sure let them get away with a lot. There was no way he didn't know about some of the stuff they'd done. The guy wasn't stupid.

As they walked he noticed that the Lieutenant was moving to the front. He was a leader after all. Chief tried to keep at his shoulder. Finally he put his hand on the other's arm. When he looked over Chief tried to motion for him to relax, slow down. Maybe he chose the wrong way because Garrison simply pulled his arm free and pushed on ahead. Stubborn fool. He hurried to catch up as the sound of gunfire dropped everybody, at least everybody who could hear. Chief grabbed the only one standing and pulled him down. The shooting did not last long before Chief saw the prisoners being marched to the rear of the line. They had surprised and captured an enemy convoy. Their own number had grown from the thirty to forty men when they had joined to about seventy five now. Taking and holding their objective, what ever it was, seemed a little more survivable. IF he could keep his eager soldier back from the front lines. Sometimes he was just too stubborn for his own good. They walked past the bodies of the dead.

Up ahead the sound of aircraft and bombs began falling. They were not that far away. Then was a slightly different sound. He heard whispers of 'naval fire' and wondered how close they were and how good their aim was. Be a real shame to do all they had done and survived and then get hit by your own shells. Nothing he could do about it.

A halt was called and the men sank gratefully to the ground behind a low hedge. Chief handed the last of his food to his friend as he watched up ahead. Several soldiers were scouting up ahead. Must have been okay because they came back after a few minutes. The signal was given and they proceeded south about a quarter of a mile to the town of Sainte-Martin-de-Varreville. By Chief's internal compass, they were just south of where they had spent the night. Farther south was Le Havre, which if they could not find help any where else, had been his last ditch destination. He had followed Garrison on one of their earlier missions when he had made contact so he knew where to go. So far they were still on track.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

No one was saying anything but Chief knew this size of landing was too big for just a covert operation to annoy the enemy. This operation and the bombing along the shore had to be the start of an invasion. That was good, he thought. We'll be able to get to a radio and arrange pick up. Then he envisioned all the ships loaded with men approaching the shore. Everything was coming this way, not going back. They could still be stuck here but at least Command could be notified that they were safe. Then another thought. What if they failed, the Germans fought back and won. They would all be taken prisoner. Well, he thought, it's not as if they had never escaped before.

A command post was set up and the men were divided into two groups, one went north and the other south. Chief stayed by Garrison's side listening and guiding him. Someone tried separating them but Chief put an end to that. "He's no good to you. He's stone deaf."

"He can still fire a weapon an' we need all the trigger fingers we got so he goes."

"I'm his ears so I go with him."

"Good enough. Follow the Sergeant over there."

For the next several hours Chief shadowed the Lieutenant. He could see the man's frustration at not being able to hear the commands or partake in the camaraderie. The soldiers' moral was good, their spirits were high even though Chief could see their worries about the upcoming action. Spurring them on was the sounds of the gun battle coming from the beach. They approached the town of Audouville-la-Hubert, cleared it of enemy soldiers then dug in. The cloud cover, complete when dawn arrived, began to lift as they heard the fighting at the beach intensify. Two hours later they saw the enemy began to advance on their position, from the beach. A low cheer went up when they realized the enemy was not advancing on them, they were retreating from their position on the beach as the Allies began pushing inland.

Three and a half hours later the fight was over and they had made contact with the First Battalion of the Eighth Infantry. The Invasion had landed and the Allies had a solid foot in France.

"That was some damn fine shootin'. Where you from? An' how come you're not in uniform?" With the surrender of the last of the German soldiers the Allied soldiers were checking for stragglers and wounded.

"Long story," said Chief as he moved off in hopes of loosing his inquisitor, a young private.

"Gimme the short version." He was not giving up.

Chief was tired, he had not had a good nights sleep in, he couldn't remember when. He also knew that when the fighting rush ended he was going to be in bad shape. He was also frustrated in his inability to get Garrison back to England. Actor would have had him safely back long before now. With all this on his mind he didn't care what happened, he just said it. "Army wouldn't take me."

"How come? You don't need glasses, not with that shootin' So how come they wouldn't let you join up?"

Chief saw Garrison standing talking to an Infantry Sargent about ten feet away. He wanted to get there, make sure he was all right and to lose his new 'friend'. He turned to his left, looked the pest in the eye and said, "I'm a convict."

That stopped him but only for a moment. "What did you do?" he asked warily.

"I killed a man for askin' too many questions," he said coldly. That worked. The soldier stuttered something and walked away.

"Do you think that was wise?"

Chief had heard movement to his right so knew someone was there but was surprised by the voice. Not because it was so close but because of who it belonged to. He turned to look. Garrison was standing there, his rifle held loosely at his side. He was watching the retreating man then flicked a look in Chief's direction.

"You kin hear?" he asked anxiously.

"Not really," and he looked back at Chief. "The ringing's not as bad, so I guess that's good."

"But, then how …?"

"I know that look," he said with a smile.

"Worked," he answered and returned the smile. The two men walked on in silence. It had been a long tense day and both men were tired and hungry. It was late evening before they had a chance to do anything about either of these conditions. When the food finally became available they were past caring, preferring to sleep. Tomorrow they would eat. They slept the sleep of the exhausted but were roused too soon by the sounds of tanks, trucks, mortars shells and the sounds of men talking of their fears and worries.

General Collins had set up his headquarters in a farmhouse at the south end of the town so immediately after breakfast the two men began their quest for transport. At least here they did not have to worry about double agents, here they had to contend with everyone being busy with the requesting, transporting and movement of troops and weaponry, all moving south, east and west. And, of course, the chain of command. It took most of the day to work their way up to someone who put in a call and then told them to wait for a reply. Meanwhile they ate and rested.

It did not take long before both men got restless. Neither were used to doing nothing so they wandered. Chief practiced with his knife while Garrison watched the comings and goings of the trappings of war. Chief knew he wanted to talk to the men but without hearing the response it was pointless. He retreated but still watched as Chief watched him.

Again he was struck by how Garrison belonged here. He would be recognized for the leader he was and promoted. The look of longing he glimpsed once in a while only strengthened this belief. The cons had to let him go. If they asked him, he would deny it. He was a good soldier, he would do as he was ordered. That meant the cons would have to force him to go, or con him into it. He would have to talk to Actor about that. He tried to think of a con but he was no good at that sort of stuff. Actor would know.

As if summoned, Garrison wandered over to where Chief was perched on the hood of a jeep. "I'm going in for a bit," he said as he rubbed his forehead. Chief hopped down to accompany him but Garrison held up his hand and said, "Stay. I'll be all right. Keep an eye on the communications. Maybe they'll give us another mission."

Chief stopped dead, confused. A mission? He watched as his leader wobbled. He took two fast steps fearing the man was going to fall then slowed as he recovered. He tailed him back to the tent they had slept in last night. Once he was sure the man was laying down he made his way towards the communications area. He was stopped several times by soldiers determined to keep civilians out but eventually got close enough to quiz the operator.

"Anything?"

The poor harried operator shot him a glance then said abruptly, "About what?"

"Special Forces. Two to return to England."

"No noth …. Wait." He sat transfixed for a minute then responded. Then another silence before he looked over. "What's your name?"

"Chief an' Garrison."

"Yeah. You're to wait here. They'll see what they can do."

"Didja tell'm he needs to be in a hospital."

"Look buddy, there's medical units here," said a Lieutenant who was standing on the other side.

"He needs more'n a bandage. He can't hear and he gets tired real easy. There's som'um wrong He needs a real hospital."

"Look son," interrupted a Major.

"I'm not your son!" Chief hated when people started with that. It meant they were about to tell you why you were not going to get what you wanted or needed. "I'm a guy who cares about what happen to 'im. Either arrange a way back or we're gone!"

The Major's face had been conciliatory but hardened with Chief's tone. "You're working for the US Army and as such, you will address me in the manner I have earned. This," and he pointed to the gold leaf, "says you will speak to me with respect."

Chief stared back unfazed. "With all due respect," he said with eyes narrowed in anger, "I'm gonna take the man who has **earned** my respect by his actions an' I'm gonna find a way to get him back to get the help he needs. Thanks for all your help, Sir." He snapped off a salute Garrison would have been proud of, turned and left, back straight, head held high. Damn, he thought. Put a little shit on a guys shirt and it goes to his head. As he walked he began to cool off. What if that shit decided to send the MP's after him for talking like that. Normally he wouldn't care, Garrison would bail him out but he was in shape to do that. He better just get Garrison and get out. He began to walk a little faster.

Up ahead he saw a man with his arm in a sling. The bandages were fresh. That meant a hospital and that would mean a doctor and that meant help for Garrison. After approaching the injured soldier and being pointed in the right direction he set off on his quest.

Once there he entered and stopped the first nurse he met. "I gotta talk to the Doctor."

"Are you injured?"

"No, but my friend is."

"I am sorry the Doctors are very busy. There must be a local doctor in town. Why don't you go see him."

"My friend is a First Lieutenant in the US Army and he's injured. He needs to see a doctor."

"All right. Where is he? I'll see if I can get someone to look at him."

"I'll get 'im."

Chief raced off but by the time he returned with the officer the nurse was nowhere to be seen. Instead there was an orderly standing by the door smoking a cigarette. "Lieutenant needs ta see the Doctor."

"He's outa uniform. Where's his uniform, dog tags?" he asked suspiciously.

"We're Special Forces. We operate behind enemy lines."

He nodded. "Docs are all in surgery. They're only dealing with the seriously wounded." He sounded tired.

"The guys, really hurt, do ya send them back to England?" an idea was forming.

"If the doctors can fix'em up they go back to their units, if not then, yeah, they're put on a truck to the coast and shipped back to England."

"I need to get him on that ship. He's can't hear."

The orderly exhaled loudly. "The bus is due to arrive in about an hour. Ask the driver if he can go. I can't guarantee but you can try."

He would do more than try. Chief was going to get him back one way or another.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

There was no where to sit so Chief led his leader over to where a jeep was parked and sat on the hood. It had not been here long, it was still warm. He just hoped it wasn't going anywhere soon. They sat in silence watching the hustle and bustle. The jeep driver returned and they left their perch, moving on to a pile of equipment that was stacked nearby. It was getting late, Chief looked at his watch. The hour was past, there was no bus and the orderly had finished his break and gone long ago.

Chief was getting antsy. Where was the bus? It crossed his mind that the orderly had lied. Maybe he should go find him and ask him what the hell he was playing at. Damn liars, can't trust nobody. He leaned forward preparing to get up but stopped when Garrison put his hand on his arm. Chief sat back and turned to see what was the matter.

"Just wait." It was said quietly which was not unusual but Chief thought the man looked pale.

"You wanna lay down?" he asked as he made the gesture for sleep.

Garrison just shook his head but he closed his eyes for a moment before opening then and with a wan smile he said, "Just wait." All thoughts of hunting down the lying orderly vanished and were replaced by worry about his friend.

With all the noise of jeeps, trucks and tanks, the arrival of another truck was un-noticed until it pulled up beside the hospital tent. Chief jumped up and taking Garrison's arm began leading him over to the back.

A Corporal wearing a red cross armband jumped down from the back and went around to the passenger side door. He began unloading boxes of supplies. The driver came around the back. Chief approached and said, "Hey, I godda get my CO back to England."

"This ain't no taxi. This here's for wounded American soldiers."

"He a First Lieutenant in the US Army and he's injured."

"Don't look injured to me." The driver, a Corporal, sounded tired. Chief wondered briefly how many trips he had made. He almost felt sorry for him until he spoke again. "Sides the Doc's got the list of who goes an' you ain't on it."

He made to push past but Chief stepped in to block his way. He was too close to let this slip away. He triggered the release dropping the knife and raised his hand as the blade snapped open. "He is now," he said with deadly calm. "Our boat was torpedoed, an' now he's deaf. He needs to get on that hospital ship an' you're gonna take him there."

He felt Garrison's hand on his arm and heard him say his name, warning him to stop but he ignored it, he was past caring. Asking wasn't working so now he was doing what had to done.

The Corporal swallowed hard and blinked. "He kin sit on the floor in the front."

Chief resisted the increasing pressure on his arm to glare for a moment to make sure the driver knew he was serious and not to try anything funny. His fear appeared to be real so Chief stepped back. The driver hurried to the hospital tent, obviously glad to escape as the other soldier carried the boxes in behind him. Chief led Garrison to the front of the truck and opened the passenger door. Inside the seat had been removed but there was a place where a man could sit. The ride would be uncomfortable but it would get him to the ship and a ride home. Garrison climbed up and sat to one side. There was room for two to squeeze in but he figured he would wait until the last minute. The less time he had to sit like that the better.

He stood to the side and watched as the wounded were loaded in the back. Some of them looked really bad, missing limbs, bandaged heads. This was what war was really about, not what they did. They risked getting killed but these guys… If they survived, how were they going to live? He tried to picture what kind of job a one legged man could do or a guy with only one arm. Of all the rotten thing that had happened in his life at least he still had all arms and legs.

The last of the stretchers was loaded and he was looking to get in beside his leader when the driver came out carrying a duffle bag with MAIL printed on the side. He brought it up and stowed it where he had expected too sit. He watched as Garrison tried to shift over, putting the bag on his lap to make room but knew there was to way he would fit. He touched his leaders arm and indicated that he would be in the back.

There was no room in the back to sit so he stood, feet apart, one hand holding a roof support, the other, the side of a stretcher. The engine roared to life, transmission engaged and with a lurch that would have floored him if he had not been braced and holding on, they were on their way. The roads were smooth at first and Chief relaxed, he knew it was going to be long trip, so the first lurch pulled his hand from the roof and sent him to his knee. He managed to stand but the rest of the trip was rough. Unable to anticipate the moves he was thrown against the stretchers stacked on either side and thrown forward and backward without warning. He clung to the supports and hoped Garrison was all right. He could see the obstacles up ahead but had no cushioning. He was going to hurt real bad by the time they got to the ship.

Finally the truck slowed and came to a halt. There was a short wait which Chief welcomed at first but it also meant no fresh air coming in allowing the smell of blood, urine and engine fumes to accumulate. Chief's stomach heaved as the soldier beside him vomited. He moved to the back and lifted the flap.

He could smell the sea and hear more vehicles. By peering around the edge he saw the hold up. Vehicles were streaming inland, jeeps, tanks and trucks, some towing artillery, others loaded with crates and boxes. He wanted to jump down but feared being left behind so he contented himself with watching. The medic joined him.

After about an hour they began to move, this time slower and without the roller coaster effects. Suddenly there was a blaring of horns and the truck slammed to a stop jerking Chief forward then back. A few yells and curses and they began to move again, turned a tight corner then reversed. Finally they stopped and Chief heard the cab door open then slam. He hopped down and moved to the front. He heard the medic jump down as he opened the passenger door. The mail bag was handed down then Garrison gingerly eased himself out of the truck. He looked ill. Quickly Chief looked around but there was nowhere for him to rest. Fearing getting separated in the throng of soldiers, vehicles and commotion, he took Garrison's arm and led him toward the boat that was being loaded with wounded. The MP who was guarding the gangplank stepped in front barring their way.

Anticipating the problem the wounded Officer identified himself, name, rank and serial number as well as the branch he worked for. The MP considered the two who stood before him, then stepped back and nodded. The stepped up and boarded the boat. They were on their way home at last.

As they crossed the deck the medic from the truck they were on spotted Chief. "Hey, give us a hand with the stretchers, will ya?"

Chief saw Garrison move to the rail so he followed the medic. Two trips later he was back on board but he could not find his friend anywhere. Peering down on to the pier he thought he saw him so pushed his way through the crowd and made his way ashore. Once there he kept one eye on the shuffling vehicles and one eye open for the officer. He dodged past another ambulance but could not find his quarry. Turning back he saw the gangplank being raised. He had missed his chance. Well at least Garrison was going back. He would get to a hospital and the docs would fix him up.

As the boat began to move he suddenly had a thought, 'what if he thinks I ran?' Now he was worried. 'He knows I wouldn't', he thought. Did he really or was he trying to convince himself. He tried to think back to any time he might have given him the impression that he might. There was that time at the very beginning when he said he would follow who ever was left standing. That wasn't good except Garrison was the one left standing so he was going to follow him. Right? And the time with Destine? They had straightened all that out. Hadn't they? Other than those times there was no time that Garrison could doubt his loyalty. "He trusts me. He's gotta trust me."

"Yes, I trust you."

Chief spun around at the sound of Garrison's voice. "Whadda you doing here?" He turned to look at the boat that was now yards from the pier then back at the man who stood behind his shoulder. "I thought you were on board."

"I was," he said as he smiled, "but when I couldn't find you I thought you were having trouble getting back so I went looking for you."

Chief couldn't help but return the smile. "I was doin' the same."

"I guess we weren't meant to be on that boat." Something prickled on the back of Chief's neck and he turned to look at the boat that was now cruising out to sea. Was that mist or just distance that made it look ghostly. The prickle moved down his spine and the hairs on his arms stood up. He turned away quickly. He did not want to know and certainly did not want to watch, just in case.

"Lets get out of here." He started to move away.

"We should wait for the next one."

"No," he said abruptly and continued to move away from the water without looking back leaving Garrison no other option but to follow. It was not until he was well away from the water that he stopped. As eager as he was to get back, they would not be leaving that way.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

They eventually found their way to a row of shops facing the pier, one of which was a café. After wading through the people standing cheering the new arrivals, Chief opened the door and held it for a woman to leave and Garrison to enter before going in. The shop was crowded with locals sitting and talking. Everyone was in a good mood as they watched out the window at the goings on outside. It was not as quiet as he had hoped but at least they would not get run over.

The proprietor bustled over and asked Chief something. Not understanding the question but assuming with the Allies right outside the door that it didn't matter he said, "We ain't got no money but my friend here, needs a place to rest for a few minutes. Okay?"

"American?" he asked cheerfully. Chief nodded. "Welcome, my friends," and he grabbed Chief's hand and pumped it before releasing it and doing the same to Garrison. "Come, sit, I get you some Brandy. I am afraid it is not very good," he said as he hurried off to the back. "The German's took the rest. I kept a bottle for this very day." He vanished only to reappear within a minute holding a bottle high. "Here it is. To Victory!"

Glasses appeared and he poured drinks for everyone. There was much laughter, talking and clinking of glasses. Garrison held up his glass and Chief touched it with his. "To Victory."

"To victory," echoed Chief, "and to getting you home."

An older man moved closer and sat at their table. His accent was thick but he spoke slowly. "Where is home? I hear you say home."

"We're heading back to England." Chief figured that was polite without revealing too much. They already knew they were Allies.

"You to wait for, eh, a ship?"

"Yeah."

"When you ship?"

Chief wasn't sure about this. He didn't want to be rude but it didn't pay to say too much. He was relieved when Garrison spoke. "No arrangement yet."

"You want I ship, no no." He shook his head in frustration. "You want I ship you …" He swore and called to the proprietor in rapid fire French. In response the man hurried over and listened to the older man then explained.

"Ah oui!" He nodded and turned to the two foreigners. "Marceau has a fishing boat. If you give him a hand sailing he will take you to England."

Chief looked to his leader. This was a decision he did not want to make. Trusting strangers was not something he did. Garrison was looking at him questioningly as he flicked his thumb towards his ear. At least that was what Chief thought he was doing. It could be he did not hear the proposal or maybe he was indicating he wanted to check something out before they committed or was he saying he wanted to leave? Safest thing was to delay so he said, "There's some'um we have to do first. Then we'll be back." He figured that was vague enough. He stood and waited for Garrison to drain his glass and stand before moving to the door.

"Any thing we can help you with?" offered the proprietor.

"No, but thanks for the drink." He held the door for his friend and they moved off down the street. The farther from the pier the quieter it got. Finally they found a back alley.

"What's going on?"

After scanning the area for eaves droppers Chief turned to Garrison. "The old guy has a boat but wants our help sailing it." He spoke as loud as he dared.

"I heard most of what he said but I wasn't sure."

"You know any contacts in this area?" asked Chief.

"No, and after the last time I didn't think you would want to try again."

Chief saw the sad smile and understood. "You were injured. Betcha had a king sized head ache too. But it's gettin' better idn't it?"

"Yeah." He paused then said, "Know anything about sailing a boat?"

"Nope. You?"

"Some. Shall we go? Might be faster than waiting for the Military."

"I don'ow." He frowned. "You trust 'm?"

"If he wants our help sailing then I assume he's alone. Two against one if he tries anything."

What if there's more of 'm?"

"We don't go."

The two men returned to the chaos of the pier. They had some time to wait for Marceau to return so they found a convenient jeep to sit on. Unsure how to proceed Chief waited a few minutes then blundered in. Knowing he could not hear with all this background noise he nudged the officer then pointed to him, smiled then gestured to the surrounding organized chaos. He had thought hard about how to express what he wanted to ask and realized he had not succeeded when Garrison looked at him and said he had not realized he was smiling.

Chief shook his head and tried again. He pointed at Garrison then used his finger to write in the dirt on the hood the letters L I K then gestured around.

Then Garrison did smile a smile of understanding as Chief rubbed out the evidence of his ignorance. "Do I like all this? It brings back memories of North Africa. There were good times," he looked down and the smile faded, "and bad." He looked up and watched as a tank rumbled nearby. "You're assigned to a unit, you get to know the men. You know you're doing your part in a big operation. Yeah, sometimes I miss it." Maybe it dawned on him then, what was really being asked, because his tone changed. "I also know that anyone can do that job. There are a lot of very qualified men out there, men who can lead, men that can carry out those orders. But what we're doing," he looked over at his companion, "I like to think that there are only a select few who can do this." He must have seen the concern on Chief's face because he broke into a grin and added, "And I think there are even fewer who could keep you thugs in line." Both men laughed.

Chief thought about what he had just heard. Garrison admitted he missed his former assignment but there was a pride in his voice when he talked about what he was doing now. He thought about how many leaders there were. Garrison was a good leader, that was for sure. But he was right. This here was not the kind of job that anyone could do. Could he, himself, be just a regular soldier? All that drilling and marching. When he was in the Residential school they had to do that drilling and marching. He hated it, hated it. He had done everything he could think of to get out of it. No, he could never be a regular soldier, but this, this he could do. Garrison just happened to be good at regular military stuff and at this.

Or was he? He remembered back at the beginning when Garrison had tried to get them to act all military-like. That hadn't worked. Maybe he was better at leading this covert stuff. He had a feeling that Actor, if he didn't like following the Warden, that he would take off, and Goniff too. Maybe even Casino. And him? He stayed because he said he would but he knew if it was bad enough that he would have sided with one of the others and left. But he stayed because he liked working with Garrison. He was fair and honest and he treated the guys, sometimes, as if he actually liked them. No, Garrison belonged here. This realization pleased him. He had enough guilt without adding keeping Garrison from what he liked better.

From down the road he saw Marceau moving stiffly in their direction. When he got closer Garrison went to meet him and they moved away from the bustle of the pier to a quiet spot where he could hear. Chief remained where he was so he could watch. It was habit, besides he didn't speak French. No one took notice of the two men even when they returned to where Chief sat.

"Marceau has a fishing boat, big enough to cross the channel. His crew are all gone, either dead or away fighting. He's too old to run the boat himself so he needs a little help. I told him we're not sailors but he said he'd tell us what to do. He wants to leave with the tide," he looked at his watch, " which is right about now." Chief hopped down and they moved off.

The boat was old but appeared sea worthy. Chief stood by the lines on the pier as the other two boarded. The engine coughed but refused to catch. A moment passed and the engine coughed again. Chief climbed on board and headed for the engine room. Marceau was hunched over as Garrison watched but moved out of the way as he approached. Not waiting Chief stepped in and between the two of them dismantled the machine, cleaned it and reassembled it. Once done it fired up and began to chug contentedly. Garrison went up and cast off the lines and they were underway. There was not a lot that had to be done once they cleared the break wall so they settled in. Chief watched as Garrison tried talking to the captain but the noise of the engine made it too hard to hear.

Fearing their previous fate Chief watched the horizon. There was no way he would see a sub but he had to watch. That was why he spotted the dark spot on the horizon. He hoped it was just passing but it began to grow. It did not take long to become clear, it was a ship and it was heading straight for them. Chief moved into the bridge and pointed it out to the Captain. He looked then pulled out a long brass telescope and had a long look. He then handed it to Chief. It was a ship but he couldn't tell whose.

Chief was worried. They were alone and unarmed just like last time. He guessed they were not meant to get home. 'Guess we should have stayed there. Too late now', he thought. He looked back to see if he could still see the coast but it was gone. He moved closer to Garrison.

He looked back towards the approaching ship and raised the telescope again, heart pounding, then yelled. The flag was British. They were the good guys. He handed the telescope to Garrison and watched him smile.

All three were smiling when the ship pulled up beside them and the amplified voice demanded to know their business. Marceau was all blustery about being delayed but the Captain of the other ship had the last laugh as the boats drew closer. "Glad to see you boys are finally on your way home."

That was when Chief recognized the voice. This was the same ship that had rescued them from the water the last time they were out here. The Number on the bow confirmed it. He quickly explained it to Garrison before waving back.

"We are on our way back. Would you like an escort?"

Marceau rang the ships bell twice and waved. They were under again.

Home at last. Chief opened the car door and stepped out. It was good to finally be home. They had stopped at the hospital where Garrison was declared to be well enough to go home and rest. Chief was going to be sure he did too. The rest of the team was on the front step waiting and they all entered together. They wanted to know all the details but Chief said the Warden had to rest.

Once upstairs in the room they shared Chief stretched out on his cot. "Sure made good use of your time off."

"What?" asked Casino.

"If we had got back when we were supposed to it woulda spoiled yer fun."

"Whadda ya mean?" asked Casino. He sounded just a little worried but trying to bluff.

"Kin smell it," he said with a faint smile.

Afterward

I have no intention of writing what he smelled. Just thought it was a way to end this. Think about it and let me know what you think he was referring to.

Mary


End file.
